


His oxygen belongs to Death

by Sophiethegeek



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drug Use, Dysfunctional Family, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus Hargreeves Needs Help, Klaus Hargreeves-centric, M/M, Multi, Not Season/Series 02 Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Self-Harm, Time Travel, not graphic, they're trying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:53:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 63,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27919276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophiethegeek/pseuds/Sophiethegeek
Summary: He can almost taste their bloodlust on his tongue, feel their rage heavy in his breastbone. They’re bad today, and it’s safe to say he’s having a very bad day as a result. Each swipe is sending icy pain across his skin, making him shiver. God, he’s cold.He closes his eyes, pretending not to hear the faint roar of the snarling, crying, screeching mass around him. Why did he think sobriety was a good idea? Christ on a cracker, this fucking sucked.Or: After hopping around time, and returning to the day of the apocalypse that never was, Klaus falls apart slowly, then all at once.
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz
Comments: 98
Kudos: 372
Collections: Fics where the Hargreeves siblings live in the Academy together





	1. Chapter One

It’s cold. _Fucking freezing._

His skin is red, throbbing in time with his pulse roaring a tempo in his ears. His heart is stuttering frantically in his chest, like an angry bee banging against the glass of a closed jar. The dizziness is coming and going in waves, making stars appear and then fizzle out intermittently across his vision. The bathwater laps at his shoulders every time he shifts, a sharp burn creating a brief flash of relief before the ice seeps into his skin, into his veins, and makes him _cold, cold, cold._

Klaus whimpers, sliding down the tub until his head is submerged. The water stings his eyes and blurs his vision, but he can still see them – the hands following his descent into the water. Cold, rotting digits swiping at him, reaching for him, trying to grab him and pull him into death with them, where they can _touch him, scratch him, rip him, pull him apart…_

God, he wants drugs. Who wouldn’t he suck off for a bit of heroin right now? Fentanyl, oxycontin, ketamine, anything that would make the hands fade, the wailing stop. He wants to shout, to scream, to howl at them that he can’t help them, he doesn’t fucking know how. He’s Number Four, fuck-up extraordinaire, he can’t do _shit_. But Klaus knows this will only make them angrier, more desperate to force him to understand their pain, their **_agony_** , and make him feel it ten-times over when he pushes GOODBYE in their snarling faces.

He can almost taste their bloodlust on his tongue, feel their rage heavy in his breastbone. They’re bad today, and it’s safe to say he’s having a very bad day as a result. Each swipe is sending icy pain across his skin, making him shiver. God, he’s cold.

He closes his eyes, pretending not to hear the faint roar of the snarling, crying, screeching mass around him. Why did he think sobriety was a good idea? Christ on a cracker, this fucking sucked.

Dave.

And Ben, now that he knows he can make Ben tangible.

 _Jesus_ , the look on Ben’s face when their palms connected that time. The glimmer of hope when he realised, he might actually be able to speak to his family again, be able to hug them, and laugh with them. Klaus can be selfish, but god he’s not that much of an asshole to deny Ben this chance. Plus, he's calling first dibs on that hug.

But like he said, Klaus is a fuck-up, and all he’s got to show for his efforts is one punch to the face, a six-second – _hah!_ \- successful game of patty-cake, and one – admittedly breath-taking – manifestation of Ben using the horror to save all their asses at the theatre, all of which he’s been utterly unable to replicate since. Oh, and an angry swarm of ghosties that refuse to let him take a piss on his own without their baleful glares.

A man can do without an audience of twelve for that. It’s lucky Klaus has some body confidence, quite honestly.

So, in summary, being sober is going swimmingly. Just peachy.

He misses the drugs.

He drifts for a while, or tries to. He pretends he can’t feel the incessant itching under his skin, like ants crawling around under the tissue stinging and biting at his insides. The itch that drives him to scratch at his arms at night, and pick away at the skin in a vain attempt to satisfy the need, when he knows in reality the only relief would be the sharp sting of a needle parting the layers and breathing opioids into the vessels underneath. He ignores the steadily building pressure in his lungs, the burning telling him he needs to inhale. His nails dig into his palms, and his toes curl against the ceramic with every icy prickle that shocks across his skin, spindly fingers trying to tear at him.

Fucking hell.

There’s suddenly a hand on his arm, gripping tightly, and Klaus gasps, the water flooding his lungs, and he’s drowning, but who the fuck cares about that when they can touch him – _no, they can’t touch him, never, ever again. **They can’t.**_ – and they’re going to rip him to pieces, muscle and sinew from skin and bone. There’s a sharp tug, and he’s pulled up and out of the water. Klaus coughs, eyes streaming, his hands reaching up to the arm and readying himself to push, bite, claw his way out of this when his wet fingers grasp wool. The wool feels soft to touch, skin blessedly warm underneath.

Klaus tries to see, still coughing and spluttering. He jerks his head sharply to push away the wet curls from his face, and blinks the sting out of his eyes.

Five stares at him, unimpressed, his warm hand still grasping the top of his arm, and water dripping from his fringe. Oops.

“What the fuck, Klaus?”

The relief is instantaneous, he could literally faint from the relief alone. Five looks pretty alive, feels it too, though Klaus still tries to subtly - and who is he kidding, Five is a literal omniscient time-travelling gremlin who sees everything - slide two of his fingers to the underside of Five’s wrist in order to feel the steady _thump, thump, thump_ of the radial pulse against his fingertips. His shoulders slump, racing heart becoming slower and making him feel lightheaded. Stars pop across his line of sight in a nauseating display.

“Five, baby bro,” He croaks out, throat sore and scratchy, and his lungs still feel waterlogged. Christ, on top of everything he’s going to develop pneumonia. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Five frowns, mouth tightening into a thin line. “Don’t call me that. We’re having an urgent family meeting downstairs. Ten minutes.”

Klaus stares, incredulous, hands dropping back into the water with a splash that makes Five grimace and pull away, wiping at his face with his sleeve. “And you couldn’t have knocked? Shouted through the door? I know I’m pretty, but I’m not a free show you know.”

Five glowers, face scrunching up in disgust and nose wrinkling ~~adorably~~. “I did knock, you moron, but you didn’t answer,” He snaps. “I didn’t survive an apocalyptic wasteland for forty years, kill hundreds of people, end up stuck in this pubescent body, and save you assholes from the apocalypse, just for you to fall asleep and drown in the bathtub from your own damn stupidity.”

“Aw, Fivey! So you did stop the end of the world because you love us! I didn’t want to presume, but hearing you admit it is just warming the deepest, coldest, cockles of my heart.” He puts a hand over his chest theatrically, and bats his eyelashes at Five, barely flinching as a hand missing half its skin valiantly tries to claw out his right eye – in any other circumstance he’d be impressed by the persistence. 10/10 for effort, 1/10 for execution.

He sees Five’s left eye twitch, opening his mouth to no doubt snarl something he thinks is both witty and scathing enough to leave Klaus’s self-esteem in burning tatters around him.

Klaus continues boldly on.

“And Five, Five-o, older-younger brother who dearly loves us, we really need to work on your body confidence. This is a safe space, and I totally understand how disconcerting it is – God, being thirteen again was _weird_ , my tattoos were gone! Not that they define me or whatever, but man that was a bad trip. I had to write them on with a sharpie because it kept freaking me the hell out, even though it ended up looking like shit as I’m not ambidextrous, so the hello was a little wonky, but the message was there. Plus, it pissed off Sir Reggie-”

“Klaus.”

“-rest his twisted soul in the deepest depths of hell. But what was I saying? Oh yes, body confidence! You need to own it Five! But look, if I’m being honest, those academy clothes do nothing for you little bro. Nothing, nada-”

**“Klaus.”**

“-But you know, whatever you feel comfortable in I guess, even if it is ugly shorts and knee-high socks that will never be fashionable, I’ll support you. I’m sure Luther will definitely support you too, he’s been badgering us about wearing matching costumes on missions for _weeks!_ But please don’t give him any ideas about bringing the shorts back,” Klaus shudders for effect, grimacing. “I definitely do not need to see Luther in school-boy shorts.”

Klaus can literally hear Five’s teeth grind together, and that really is a bad habit. He’s going to grind them down to little stumps and then he’ll need a dentist. The thought of Five sitting calmly in a dentist chair, in a bib, whilst a stranger brings sharp implements near is person is honestly laughable.

“Ten minutes,” Five grinds out from clenched teeth, and if Klaus was a more intelligent individual, he would be fearing for his life right now. But Klaus has never been known for making smart life choices. “And for fucks sake Klaus, use some cold water in the bath next time. I’ve had acid burns nicer than the splashback from this.”

Klaus smiles sweetly at him. A woman missing half her jaw gurgles in his ear, tongue hanging out and into side of his neck, ghost saliva dropping onto his shoulder and disappearing – _gross._ “Aw, Five! Full of brotherly concern today. I told the others I knew you cared! You’re a real Care Bear at heart.”

Five growls, glares at Klaus, and then there’s a _twoop_ and a flash of blue light and Klaus is alone again. Well, as alone as he ever is, and at least some of his ghosts go with him. Klaus can always tell which are Five’s – one bullet hole, quick, no mess. They also tend to be quieter, and stare intently at his brother – it’s fucking creepy, is what it is.

The volume of the ghosties following his brother on any one particular day can occasionally be immense. They don’t tend to all be there at once, and thank heavens for that as Klaus doesn’t see how they’d all fit in the house otherwise. He doesn’t understand why this is, he’s never professed to understand ghost physics. Five was probably smart enough to figure it out, but Klaus doesn’t really want his brother to know he has a group of dead spectators watching him as he makes his disgusting peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches.

Other than being really fucking creepy in their silence, they’re not the worst lot really. Definitely not the most gruesome, which is very much appreciated. There is a couple that sometimes crowd closer to Five when they appear, their faces not as blank as the others, hints of anger warping their faces. Those were the ones which were definitely tortured before parted from the mortal world, Klaus recognises the wounds, but he tries not to think too much about that. He tries not to think about the motel, and the chair, _and how he can relate to a ghost his brother murdered._

Klaus exhales loudly, running a hand through his tangled hair. His audience stands around the tub, moaning, gurgling, and screeching at him. His skin is bright red and starting to feel sore, but he still feels so fucking cold. He wants to deafen himself in the water again, and try to lose time for a little while. But not getting out of the bath, means Five will only materialise and forcibly deposit him downstairs, most probably naked. And look, Klaus is shameless, but there are some things he could do without his siblings seeing thank-you-very-much. _Plus, they might notice the new tattoos from ‘Nam, and fuck if Klaus is able to cope with the myriad of questions that would bring on today._

Honestly, why did the girl on the bicycle hate him so much?

Klaus pushes himself up and steps out of the bath, flinching from the grabbing hands and stubbing his toe on bath leg – which, ow. He picks up the towel he’d flung on the floor and buries his head in it, raggedly breathing in and out against the fabric. A throbbing builds steadily in his skull, becoming intense and making his eyes water. He whines in his throat, raw and irritated. All he wanted was a bath, and then to sleep. He hasn’t slept for more than three hours at a time in five days.

_…Klaus! Klaus! Klaus!...Oh god, where am I? am I dead? Please you’ve got to help me, you’ve got to…Please help me, please… you have to tell her I didn’t mean to, oh god I didn’t mean to kill her. I’m going to go to Hell aren’t I? I am. Please don’t send me to hell, please… I’m going to kill you… It’s not fair, it’s not fair… You should be dead, I’ll kill you, I will… Why do you get to live?… I’ll make you suffer, you should suffer, it’ll be painful, I swear it will… Why won’t you help me? Please help me! She’s only a baby, only six years old… Have you seen my mommy? I can’t find her, she told me to wait and now I don’t know where she is… It’s going to be so painful, you should help me, why won’t you?... Klaus! Klaus! Klaus!..._

Honestly, why is this his life?

* * *

Klaus ends up arriving at the meeting twenty-five minutes later, but hey-ho, what is life for if not for breaking boundaries and pushing his ~~younger~~ older sibling steadily towards committing fratricide. At least he’d get to see Dave again if God would let him stay this time, and it would get rid of the awful pounding that’s stubbornly took up residence inside his skull.

He takes a deep breath to compose himself, swallows down the nausea, and then sweeps into the living room. Allison’s flowery peach-coloured dressing gown twirls prettily in the air behind him as he walks, and he appreciates the soft slide of the silk against his irritated skin. He grins, and waves HELLO at the faces frowning sternly at him, and at Vanya whose lips are twitching in amusement, then throws himself down in the empty space between Diego and Ben. Ben is sat in his usual black emo-inspired ensemble at the end of the couch, giving him disappointed look #5 – how apt.

“Bonjour mes frères et sœurs, la fête est arrive!”

 _“Do you actually want them to take you seriously this time?”_ Ben says sourly. _“The meeting was meant to start fifteen minutes ago.”_

Klaus turns with a smirk to face him, and sweeps a hand down his body, waggling his eyebrows. “Benny-boy, you just can’t rush this sort of perfection.”

Ben just stares back at him. He’s built up an impressive tolerance to Klaus’ antics over the past thirteen years as Casper, the highly disapproving ghost.

Diego snorts, eyebrows raised. “And what perfection is that? You look like shit, bro.”

Klaus gasps, turning to look at Diego, and throwing his hands over his heart. “Wounded. You wound me, Diego! My aesthetic is under threat, and to think you were my second favourite brother,” He points at Luther whose sat in the armchair in front of the fireplace, looking slightly confused as usual – probably doesn’t even know what the word _aesthetic_ means. “Luther, you’ve been upgraded.”

Vanya grins from where she’s sat next to Allison on the opposite couch, eyes alight with mirth – and wasn’t that such a nice sight to see. God, Dad was such an asshole. They had all been such assholes. “What about Five?”

“Pfft,” Klaus slouches back against the sofa cushion, pulling the dressing gown around himself and crossing his legs. “I prefer to know my favourite brothers aren’t going to stab kitchen utensils in my eyes when they’re in the throes of caffeine withdrawal.”

Five scowls, sat cross-legged on top of the bar clutching a glass of what looks like Dad’s off-limits expensive whisky, the bottle sitting half-empty next to his bony knee. He is clearly deciding to ignore the frequent disapproving glances Allison keeps sending him. “You would have deserved it.”

“A spoon, Five. You threatened my eyeballs with a rusty teaspoon.”

Luther clears his throat, shifting in the armchair. Bless, he clearly thinks he can gain control over the situation. “I feel like we’ve got off-topic-”

“Off topic? We were never on topic because _someone_ was late again to the family meeting.”

“I was in the bath! The bath Diego! You know that giant tub you’re meant to sit in, and use to clean yourself in once in a blue moon when you take that cheap-rate bondage gear off-”

“Oh, and you’re telling me you didn’t spend five minutes raiding Allison’s room for that dressing gown-”

“No!” It was ten minutes. “And hey! This could be mine, don’t be so sexist Dee! I can totally rock this and make it sexy-”

 _“You can’t,”_ Ben sighs, one elbow bent against the couch end and his head resting in his palm. _“How you always manage to bring us so far off topic despite experiencing it first-hand every time, I’ll never know. It’s like watching a train-wreck.”_

Diego grins, slouching back against the other sofa arm and twirling a knife expertly around his fingers. “Hey, I’ve got nothing against a man wearing a flowery dressing gown Klaus, although admittedly _very much not my thing_ -”

“Those might be the best words I’ve ever heard you utter, Diego. They’ll be immortalised in my brain forever.”

“-But that thing stinks of Chanel, which I know you can’t afford-”

Klaus gasps. “Are you calling me cheap Diego? Cheap!-”

Allison rolls her eyes, pulling her legs up on the sofa underneath her, and reaching for the glass of red wine on the coffee table. She has a pad of paper and a pen balanced on her lap in front of her, in case she needs to use it. “It’s my dressing gown. It’s lucky I've learnt not to keep anything too private out in the open in my room, isn't it Klaus?”

He takes a leaf out of Five’s book and decides to ignore her.

“-I’ll have you know, Diego, that you couldn’t afford me. And I’d have to charge extra if you were wanting to keep that get-up on. Plus, _stinks!_ Chanel! Chanel doesn’t _stink_ Diego, it’s strong sure, but it’s delightful-”

Five slams the whisky bottle against the bar surface, the glass in his other hand is now nearly over-flowing again and the bottle considerably emptier than before. “Once you morons are quite finished, we have topics of actual significance to discuss,” He glares at them all in turn, and then gestures a hand to Luther whilst taking a large swallow from the glass to say _you have the floor._ By this point Klaus feels he should just drink from the bottle, no-one will be prying that from Five’s little grabby murder hands and getting away with their lives.

Everyone looks towards Luther, who shifts and clears his throat again. He straightens his spine, and squares his shoulders, looking at them with the typical _Number One look_ Klaus remembers vividly from childhood. He sees Vanya grimace and shrink a bit into the couch cushion. “Right, so, first on the agenda, Five thinks the Commission-”

There’s an agenda? Oh lord, this is going to be a long night. Klaus sighs, instantly disinterested, and stares at the fire in the hearth, trying to see patterns in the flames. His eyelids are drooping, and he allows Luther’s words to fly over his head. He can feel Ben’s disapproval radiating towards him in waves.

He doesn’t know why Ben wants him to take these meetings so seriously, they’ll only be going on about the anomalies again, and there's nothing they can do about those but fix then when they happen. Since going back in time, and hopping through different moments in their childhood to ensure Vanya never reached the pique of resentment that she had previously, there had been little rips in reality that had been popping up around the place.

Five had explained that the world had been on a collision course for the apocalypse, and when they'd gone back and changed things, made it so such a huge event in history didn't happen, it had left a bit of damage behind. It was all very complicated, and Klaus had given up trying to understand once Five had started sprouting equations, but essentially whilst they'd stopped the apocalypse, time had stretched too far, the fabric ripping in the weakest places, before snapping back. These little rips would pop up occasionally, tending to occur around the epicentre of change - namely, the city - although they did occasionally occur further out, as little gateways to other times, allowing things to pass through that shouldn't. The first time they'd seen one, Five had nearly _lost his shit_ , and it had taken the efforts of all of them to drag him away from his wall of chalky chaos to eat and drink something. 

It had only taken Five a day to figure out an equation to anticipate most of them, and he’d created a little machine that could supposedly monitor fluctuations in energy of something-or-other linked to time, to detect the one’s his equations didn’t predict. They’d been on a few missions so far, relatively boring, so Five could seal them closed. The highlight had been when they’d found a sock on the floor in front of the roughly cut shape of glowing blue energy, and Klaus had been unable to stop the Monsters Inc. jokes for days.

A shadow of a movement catches his eye, disrupting his thoughts, and Klaus shifts his gaze lazily to look.

There’s a woman over Luther’s shoulder, and she’s staring at Vanya intently with hatred in her beady, dark eyes. Her neck is bent, and her right arm is hanging oddly at the elbow. Her skull is dented inwards at her right temple, blood flowing freely from the wound and dripping off her bruised chin. He observes her for a while, suddenly feeling wide-awake, and decides he really doesn’t appreciate the way she’s looking at his littlest sister who is sat watching Luther, and flinching as the moron makes sudden gestures with his hands. There’s a malevolent feel from the broken woman, and her lips are pulled back slightly to show a glimpse of teeth. She looks like she’d go for Vanya’s throat if given half the chance, and the air around her is tense and fizzling with fury. He narrows his eyes at her, and hisses in warning.

“-So we should – um, Klaus?”

Her dark eyes swing immediately to him, widening in that classic way they always do when they figure out he can see them. Looking at her face, he realises that he’s seen her haunting the house before, although she’s never really bothered with him in the past. He’d seen her weeping into the corner wall of the kitchen, and stumbling lop-sided and sobbing around the halls when they were kids. She’s never tried to interact with him before, and he certainly hasn’t tried interacting with her. He’s sure he’s never seen her look so aggressive; she was always fairly unremarkable compared to other ghosts that vie for his attention, just another weepy phantom. Although to be fair, he hadn’t spent that much time with Vanya in childhood outside of family meals in the dining room, which Klaus usually spent glaring at dear-old Reggie or making rollies under the table.

 _And isn’t that a kick in the teeth, despite being the séance he may have actually failed to notice his little sister was being stalked by Nanny Mcfee, purely by being a shit brother, and not giving his sister the time of day._ Maybe following Vanya around was what the old witch did when she wasn’t bringing the mood down in the kitchen. He doesn’t like the thought of that.

“Klaus, did you just hiss at Luther? What-”

“Klaus stop messing around man, this is important. The commission-”

“Do you have something you want to say, Klaus?”

Ben eyes the woman warily as she shuffles awkwardly around the arm chair, sneering at Klaus with what’s probably evil intent. Maybe Klaus should have tried to talk to her in the past, let her vent her frustrations, and maybe find eternal peace rather than let this hatred fester for so long– _Hah! As if that’s ever happened in the history of his life ever._

_“Did you just hiss at her? She knows you can see her now Klaus, why did you-”_

“Yes, I know Ben, thank you,” Klaus grinds out from gritted teeth, muscles tense and hands clenched into fists in his lap. He glares right back at the woman as she shuffles closer, snarling incomprehensibly at him.

The ghosts tend to give him a bit more space when Ben’s around. Oh, they’re there of course, crying and screeching and generally being fucking terrifying, but they don’t crowd around him too closely or reach out to grab him as much except on the bad days. This woman clearly hasn’t got the memo, stumbling threateningly towards him. He hopes this isn’t going to be a new trend, that would be really fucking depressing.

_Please go away, please go away, please go away, please go away._

“-Ben? What do you- Klaus have you even been paying any attention to this discussion? Klaus, you really need-”

She’s shuffling closer, and yes, Klaus can confirm that is definitely evil intent on her fractured face. He can see now that her right ankle is twisted awfully, facing ninety degrees clockwise in the wrong direction, and she’s dragging it behind her as she walks. Well he can always outrun the bitch, as long as he never stops running of course. The getting high method would work too, make her fade into oblivion. God, he really misses the drugs.

“Klaus!”

“What?” He snaps his focus to Luther, who is looking _pissed_. He tracks Beady Eyes approach out of the corner of his eye, and if he leans further towards Ben as she gets closer, well, only Ben knows why.

“Have you listened to a word I’ve said?” Luther snaps, scowling. Fucking hell, she’s coming right for him. Even Ben is getting twitchy _and he’s dead._

“Of course, I have. Honestly, thee of little faith.”

“Name one thing I’ve said in the past five minutes.”

Klaus stares, trying to think of all the previous same-old bullshit they’ve brought up repeatedly in the past few weeks, that apparently requires yet another urgent family meeting whenever someone thinks about it again and gets their knickers in a twist.

He sends a quick glance at Ben, but he’s no help, too busy watching their resident malicious supernanny stumble closer, as if he manages to just glare hard enough, she’ll melt into the floor like the Wicked Witch of the West. His hackles are clearly raised, and he’s pushing a fisted hand against his abdomen like he would when he was alive and struggling to keep The Horror contained.

“Timeline anomalies are bad, and we’re going on another mission to sort it out,” Klaus says confidently, smiling in a hopefully earnest manner at Luther. It feels tight at the edges.

Predictably, he gets the answer wrong, and the room erupts into reprimands and criticism. It’s the backing track to his life.

“Klaus, for god’s sake! This is important-” Allison.

“Klaus, man, really? This is some serious shit that’s going down, we need you to focus. The Commission-” Diego.

“Honestly, what did I expect? Klaus-” Luther.

“Forty years, forty goddamn years and-” Five.

“Is it a ghost?” …Vanya.

The room falls into silence, everyone turning to look at her. Her eyes flicker uncomfortably around their faces as she realises she’s garnered the attention of the room, before she carries on, voice becoming small and uncertain. “Is there someone here? Is that who you were hissing at?”

What.

The.

Fuck.

“-Klaus?” Right, he’s been staring at her for too long.

 _“Klaus, you need to answer her,”_ Ben says just as Beady Eyes reaches them.

She stands directly in front of him, blocking his vision of his family, and glowers down at him. Fingers swipe through his neck as she tries to grasp him, her eyes bulging out of their sockets with inconsolable fury when she can’t grasp anything substantial. Klaus shivers but otherwise tries his very best not to react. It’s disconcerting that his family are all watching him whilst he’s being attacked by an angry old witch, and he can’t see them back.

_“Honestly lady, leave him **the fuck alone**. Go away-”_

It’s like Ben hasn’t even spoken, like he wasn’t even there. It became pretty evident to Klaus early on in life that the ghosties don’t usually acknowledge each other, or even usually have awareness that they aren’t alone in their ghostly plane, so focused as they are on their own suffering. Ben seems to be a special case. He even tried in the beginning to attack the ghosts back, to push them away, but his hands just passed through them the same as Klaus’s did. There must be some slight awareness though, or something different about Ben, because like Klaus said before, he tends to have a smidge more breathing room when he’s around.

Ben once explained to him that to the ghosts, Klaus was like a shining beacon in the darkness, and that they felt more real, felt things more deeply around him. It might be that far, far, far away from him, ghosts may interact with each other differently, but here they’re so focused on Klaus and their own despair that they can’t see anything past that. Klaus doesn’t think so, and he would never want Ben that far away to find out – not like the answer makes an ounce of difference to him anyway - but lucky him, a ghost beacon. Yay.

No one has ever asked him if it’s a ghost before. They usually put it down to him just being Klaus, or him being high, or a long-list of his other faults. Never a ghost. Trust it to be little Vanya that notices. God, that makes him feel even _worse._

“Um, well yes, there is a ghost here. A few actually.”

But like fuck is he telling Vanya it’s the ghost of her dead nanny. Klaus can put two-and-two together now her powers have been revealed, he’s not that stupid. Does Vanya even remember the nannies?

His palms are sweaty, he never expected that he’d have to talk about the ghosts tonight. He’d promised Ben he would, at some point, but Klaus had planned for that to be sometime far, far away in the future, maybe even never (not that Ben knew that).

He didn’t expect that the chance would arise for him to admit how since he got sober the ghosts are crowding him, suffocating him, and sometimes all he feels he can breathe in is death, and how he is so fucking cold all of the time that sometimes he’s halfway convinced that he’s dead too. How he’s terrified all the time, how much it hurts when he receives looks on the street when he’s caught talking to air _again_ , when he thought he’d finally figured out how to tell the alive-from-dead this time, and how much he really wants the drugs to make it all stop.

He doesn’t feel ready to talk about it. But he needs to, he knows that, he does.

He really doesn’t want to.

Klaus is somewhat appreciative of the torso in front of him blocking his family’s reactions from view, silver linings and all that, he is a coward after all. Out the corner of his eye he can see Ben reach a supportive hand to hover over his right shoulder, still glaring up at the woman and cursing her to hell and back. It’s what gives Klaus the confidence to say fuck it, take a deep breath, open his mouth, and-

“Well tell them to get lost Klaus, you can talk to your dead buddies later. We need discuss how we’re going to manage the risk from the Commission right now whilst these timeline anomalies are still popping up hot and fast.”

Diego lets out a huff out laughter, “Yeah, and whose fault is it that these timeline anomalies are happening in the first place?”

Five turns to snarl at Diego, eyes glinting furiously, “Oh, I’m sorry Diego. Did you have a better plan at the end of the world? By all means, we can let the commission succeed in triggering the apocalypse, and we’ll sit back and relax knowing Number Two definitely has the situation all in hand-”

Predictably, chaos erupts again, but Klaus isn’t even listening. ‘ _Tell them to get lost’_ he mouths the words, staring incredulously at Five, and then at Ben who looks _angry_.

_“Klaus, you need to tell them. They don’t understand. Honestly, the lack of observation in this family is appalling. Please, you need their help Klaus, I’m right here with you.”_

_Tell them to get lost, Klaus._

_Tell them to get lost._

Klaus laughs, a harsh sound that puts a stop to the voices talking over each other, the bickering and snide comments being thrown around the room like ping-pong balls. He uncurls his fists, ignoring the cuts on his palms, and slaps his hands on his knees.

“Well! This has been a truly enlightening experience, I definitely feel way more reassured about the state of the world, and the timeline, and what-not for having this meeting. But it’s past my bedtime, and you know this perfection needs beauty sleep. So, I’m just going to go-”

He makes to climb over the back of the couch, just for Diego to snatch his arm and drag him back down again. He falls with a “ooph.” against the couch cushion.

“Sit your ass down, you’re not going anywhere.”

“Rude, Diego. Rude.”

Diego just rolls his eyes, smirking, and looks at Luther. “Well,” he says, “Continue where you left off. What’s the plan?”

Klaus tilts his body, his head passing through Ben’s arm for a just a second as he moves, making him squawk, so he can see past the demented lady in front of him. Unfortunately, this blocks Ben’s view, but moving somewhere else would just look suspicious at this point and start up a conversation he knows he really isn’t prepared to have tonight, plus the old coot would only just follow him. He ignores Ben poking him persistently in the ribs, sending icy shocks through his torso, and making them both uncomfortable.

Luther shakes his head, then turns to Diego and sighs, “We don’t know when, and if-” Five scoffs loudly, taking a large swallow of his whisky. “- the commission is going to strike. We’re all targets, we all had a hand in altering the timeline, and we’re all still working as a team to manage these anomalies as the timeline settles,” If Luther looks so heartbreakingly grateful at this point, as if his family coming back together to work as a team is all he could ever have wished for, Klaus is certainly not going to be the one to bring it up.

Five barks a laugh, raising his eyebrows over the rim of his glass mockingly at Luther. “Until the timeline _settles_ , really? God, you don’t understand _a thing_ do you-”

Luther continues talking over Five, although heat travels steadily up his neck and makes his cheeks pink. “We’re the only obstacle standing between the commission and their goal. I think we need to anticipate that an attack could happen at any time, and the easiest way to do it would be to pick us off one-by-one.”

“So, what are you suggesting Luther? It’s not something we can do much about. We’ll just have to be ready when it comes.”

“Exactly,” Luther says, nodding. “Which is why I think none of us should leave the house on our own. Two’s and three’s only until we figure out more about what the commission is planning.”

“Hell no!” Diego yells immediately. Klaus wholeheartedly agrees with the sentiment. “I’m a grown-ass man Luther, I can handle myself. I need to go out, people rely on me for god’s sake! Hell, I live on my own!”

Five sneers at Diego, pointing at him with the whisky bottle. “Well you’re just going to have to hang that Batman costume up for a while Diego, because you’re no match for the Handler and the Commission.”

Allison sends a dark look of disapproval at Five before turning to Diego, her eyes large and imploring. “I wouldn’t have put it in quite that way, but he’s right Diego. Your family need you here. There won’t be any people left for you to help if the commission gets their way. You know that.”

Diego opens his mouth, scowling, so Allison continues quickly onwards. “I understand Diego, really I do. Do you not think the only place I really want be right now is with Claire? But I can’t Diego, and it kills me, _but I can’t._ If we don’t do this, if we don’t succeed, my daughter won’t even be alive.” Her voice breaks, eyes filling with tears. Vanya puts a hand on her sister’s arm, squeezing reassuringly. Luther glares darkly at Diego, laying the blame for Allison’s tears on his shoulders.

Diego shuts his mouth and looks down at his lap uncomfortably, eyebrows furrowed. Klaus knows he stills struggles with _what the fuck to do_ when smacked in the face with emotional issues out of nowhere. Eventually he clears his throat, and looks up at Allison, and nods his head.

“You’re right, Ally. I’ll agree as long as _he_ -” Diego tilts his head towards their resident genius at the bar, “-does.”

Five laughs loudly. “I’m the last person here who needs a babysitter. I don’t know if it’s escaped your notice, but I’m a fifty-eight-year-old _world-class assassin_ who can teleport-”

“Oh yeah, then why did I have to carry your skinny dumbass back to the academy after you collapsed with a shrapnel wound you decided to hide from everyone-”

“I didn’t hide it Diego, it’s not my fault you’re so unobservant. Alfred Pennyworth would be very disappointed.”

“Ok! Ok, let’s just cool it!” Luther shouts, standing, before another sparring match is born. Diego and Five glare at each other from across the room. Poor Diego, they may never find his body come dawn. “Either we all do it, or none of us do. Five, that includes you. You’re part of this family. I’m not disputing your experience when it comes to the Commission, but we all need to stick together this time. It’s where we went wrong before.”

Vanya looks up at Luther, a small smile on her face. Allison notices and squeezes Vanya’s hand where it’s still curled around her arm.

“I think it’s a sensible idea-” Allison says. She reaches up and rubs at her throat with a painful grimace. Whilst well along the path of healing with Mom and Pogo’s help, her vocal cords are still sensitive and her voice does tend to break now after prolonged use. She can only speak at all because Mom injected one of Dad’s old serums into the cords to encourage the healing process, and by God, did Luther _lose his mind_ when he found out. Mom had explained to Allison that she would likely never be able to speak again if she didn’t, and Allison had wanted to try.

“-At least until we can narrow down their plans more. We need more sibling bonding time anyway; there’s so much we don’t know about each other. We need to do better by each other this time.”

Diego looks ready to break into hives at the mention of sibling bonding, and Luther isn’t far behind, but he’s doing his best to look neutral given its Allison speaking. He gives her an awkward smile when she looks up at him. Five is gripping the neck of the whisky bottle tightly in his hand, looking about two-seconds away from jumping before someone asks him to talk about _his feelings._

The woman shuffles in front of Klaus again, screaming in rage, and begins to try and claw at his face instead. He sighs, and tilts his body further, his family will think he’s nuts but that’s nothing new. Ben stops poking irritatingly at his side in sympathy.

“I agree,” Vanya says, “I’d feel better if someone comes along to rehearsals with me anyway. You know, just in case.”

Luther looks alarmed. “Are you sure you’re ready to go back-” He stops abruptly when he gets hit in the side of the head by a whisky bottle lid. Five gives Luther the evil-eye, daring him to continue.

Well, if anyone knew what Vanya could cope with, it would be Five. He and Vanya had spent hours training together in the courtyard, and driving out to locations unknown to develop her control. They usually come back looking wind-rushed but pleased. Klaus has even caught the little menace smiling affectionately at Vanya as she rushes to tell everyone what she’s achieved that day. The first time he’d witnessed it, Klaus was convinced the second ending of the world was imminently upon them.

Vanya smiles gratefully at Five, and then looks up at Luther, nodding resolutely. “I’m sure. I need to start getting some of my life back to normal. But I’d feel better if one of you guys were with me, if that’s ok?”

“Of course, it’s ok!” Allison says whilst glaring at them all, daring them to disagree. “We’d all be happy to come with you! We’ll even set up a rota to make sure someone’s always available.”

Klaus hopes no one has ever died a horrible death in that theatre. Timelines have been rewritten, so those commission goons Ben, and by proxy, he, _don’t think about it_ , killed don’t count. He doesn’t imagine the screeching of the dead will go well with Mozart’s symphonies.

“What does Ben think, Kla- What are you doing?”

They’re all looking at him again, tilted oddly as he is across the couch, dog-tags hanging from his neck towards the floor. He grins at them all, ignoring the truly horrendous banging inside his skull from the angle, and the swirling mess of sensation in his stomach. Despite how horrible he feels, he can’t help the little glow that burns in his chest that they finally believe him about Ben, that they’ve actually asked about Ben’s thoughts like he’s still part of the family.

“Oh, you know, keeping up my flexibility. Ben agrees with the two-people rule-” Because now his family knows he’s there, he promised Ben he wouldn’t lie _as much_ about what he says anymore, the kill-joy. “So, I guess him and I will just form a pair.”

“Um, no.” Diego says, raising his eyebrows. “What are you going to do if you're attacked? You haven’t been able to manifest Ben since The Incident,”

The glow dies and a sharp pang erupts in its place, he doesn’t look at Ben who he can see shifting in his periphery. Ouch, way to go for the kill Diego.

“- and plus, even if you were able to make him corporal, what happens if you get hurt? Ben wouldn’t be able to help then. Your powers aren’t likely to keep him tangible.”

Klaus scowls at Diego, and narrows his eyes. He feels humiliation rush through him at the reminder of his failures. “Well then, both Ben and I think the two-people rule is stupid, and that it encroaches on our rights to freedom.”

Ben sighs resignedly, _“No I don’t.”_

“No, he doesn’t.” Diego says smugly, crossing his arms confidently.

“Look-” Luther cuts across everyone, squinting from what looks like a magnificently building tension headache. Klaus can relate. “I know it’s annoying, and it’s inconvenient, but we’ll just have to deal with this right now, ok? Just for a little while until we know more information. Are we all agreed?”

The room erupts in murmurs of “yes’s” and nods, and in Five’s case, a salute with the whisky glass, although he doesn’t look too happy about it.

Klaus crosses his arms and glowers at the lady’s shoes. He feels despair crawling up his throat like acid, and his eyes sting angrily. He knows he’s being stupid, _and what they’re agreeing to makes absolute perfect sense_ , but it feels like his siblings have just took away the life buoy that was keeping him afloat in angry waters, and left him to get dragged down to the depths by the monsters lurking just underneath the surface.

The only way he’s held onto a semblance of sanity over the past few weeks without the drugs to dim the horrors, is his night-time wanderings with Ben. During these times he walks the city amongst the _living_ , hears the car horns, the music, and the laughter; he smells the scents of fragrance, food, and cigarettes, as people walk, run, dance past him in the street. He can breathe in the city, breathe in _life_ , and pretend just for a moment that he’s free, that he doesn’t have one foot constantly buried in a grave he can never escape from.

He doesn’t think Ben truly understands how vital those walks have become, or how thin the tightrope is on which Klaus is balancing. There’s no way his siblings will indulge his late-night escapades, and it wouldn’t be the same anyway – they’d want to talk, to know why Klaus feels the need to meander dangerously round the streets every night like he’s insane, _and he wouldn’t be able to breathe._

“Klaus?”

He looks up, past the woman who’s determined to rip his face off, past Luther and his stupid face, to look at Five who is glaring at him impatiently waiting for his agreement. Although Five resents any restriction on his freedoms, he’s always perfectly happy to deem the rest of them incompetent enough to require it. He’s been the loudest of all of them in the past few weeks, worried about the Commission and the possibility of an imminent attack.

His eyes meet Five’s and something changes minutely in his brother’s expression, an almost troubled look flashing across his face. It only lasts a millisecond before Five’s face sets itself back to its usual sharp edges and scowling default setting, but Klaus catches it, and it doesn’t escape his notice that Five’s eyes remain narrowed dangerously on him, gaze flickering attentively over Klaus’ face.

Klaus suddenly feels like a particularly interesting specimen under a microscope, and he flashes his eyes quickly away before Five can convince himself there’s anything there to find. He remembers clearly from his childhood, and it still rings true today, that there is nothing more frightening than being the sole focus of Five’s curiosity and incredible intelligence.

“Fine.” He spits, then falls back against the couch in a sulk. “But don’t blame me when you find yourself in all-night diner at two am eating waffles when you could have been in bed.”

He’s going to have to sneak out, there’s nothing else he can do. It’s either that or he’s going to completely and totally lose it. God, this is going to be an absolute nightmare, and that’s without Ben who’ll be bitching predictably in his ear the entire time.

Everyone rolls their eyes, conversation starting up again.

Klaus ignores Luther’s “There aren’t going to be any two am trips to diners Klaus, Mom can make you waffles here.”

He also ignores Diego’s instant retort back, shouting “Hey! Mom isn’t here to run after us at all hours, Luther-”, and the bickering that subsequently follows.

Klaus is more concerned with the snipers gaze he can feel burning a hole in the side of his head. After a few moments of awkwardly pretending to be unbothered, Klaus glances up at Five ready to come out with a quip that will see his brother roll his eyes; remind him it’s _just Klaus being Klaus, move along, nothing new to see here._

But the words die in his throat because Five is still watching him with an intensity which is, quite frankly, unnerving. He’s peering at Klaus as if he’s a particularly difficult equation, head tilted in consideration, and lips drawn in a tight line as if he’s rerunning the numbers because he doesn’t like the answers he’s getting, and yet still ending up with the same results. Klaus flinches, makes his excuses, and hurries away like the coward he is, Ben trailing behind him.

He reaches his bedroom, slams the door loudly to discourage any prying visitors, and falls headfirst onto the bed. He takes deep breaths and clutches at the fabric under his hands, willing the nausea to die down, and waiting for the pulse in his ears to get quieter.

Ben sighs, settling into the chair beside his bed. _“You should try and get some sleep, Diego’s not lying, you do look like shit.”_

Klaus huffs a discouraging laugh, and burrows his head further into the duvet covering his mattress. He can hear the limping footprints coming closer from down the hall, and the man in the corner of the room is whispering apologies to his dead wife and children that he murdered because he thought she was having an affair _and she was going to take them away, she was, he had no choice, he had to do it,_ and then there’s the lady with the broken jaw breathing against the back of his neck from where she’s towering over him, the gurgling noise revolting and turning his stomach.

He clenches his teeth, and squeezes his eyes shut as the footsteps reach his door.

Sleep, hah, as if he would be so lucky.


	2. Chapter Two

Klaus inhales, breathing in the familiar scents of cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, and, unfortunately, urine, as he ambles along the dimly lit street. He’s wearing his favourite lace-up leather trousers, a tie-dye t-shirt, and a black wool trench-coat that he found in Diego’s closet, still with the tags on, that he’s stolen since he knows Diego has no intentions of ever wearing it. His black lace-up boots have seen better days, but Klaus feels that combined with the new coat he’s acquired, it creates an aesthetic of artfully messy rather than his _I’d-like-to-look-fashionable-but-I’m-homeless-and-broke-please-have-pity_ look that he usually has going for him.

Ben is trailing five metres behind him, a scowl on his face, and being an absolute bundle of joy. He’s given up needling, snapping, and then yelling at Klaus to go back home, and is instead giving him the silent treatment, shooting daggers at the back of his head so Klaus can’t possibly forget about his disapproval. Bless.

A group of girls move to pass him on the sidewalk, laughing and tipsy, obviously on a night out downtown. He notices them whispering and looking at him in a way they must think is covert as he approaches, so he smirks and gives them a wink. They erupt into screeches and giggles, and “Oh my god, he’s so hot! You should ask him to come with us!” behind him, and he laughs quietly, carrying on down the sidewalk. Ben’s glare is so potent, he’s actually a tad concerned it might start burning a hole through his skull.

“Oh, would you lighten up Benny-boy! We’re fine! No weird people with briefcases out to kill us, there’s just regular drunk people out partying trying to forget their lives!”

Klaus looks over his shoulder, smirking, but Ben just glares back stonily in silence. Well that’s just fine with him, it’s not like he even asked Ben to come out with him in the first place. He rolls his eyes and strides further down the street, weaving expertly around the party-goers, junkies, and the poor people who finish their work shifts at three am. Is chronic stress bad for ghosts? Honestly, he doesn’t see how it could be, as surely Ben would’ve spontaneously combusted by now from the ghostly stick he has stuck so far up his ass.

It’s been almost a week since the last family meeting, and Klaus has literally been grasping at the last of his sanity tightly with both hands. He can’t even lay the blame solely with the ghosties, as much as he’d like to, as his family have been running contenders in the competition to make him insane. Klaus loves his family, he truly does, but he thinks he can speak for all of them when he says tensions are running a smidge high right now.

The bickering is occurring constantly around every corner, and despite living in a house with an endless fuck-tonne of rooms, they seem to be crawling all over each other. Then there’s the training, the team-bonding exercises, the mandatory family dinners, yada, yada, yada. Honestly, Klaus has considered starting a betting pool for who’s going to snap and commit grisly murder first. His bet would be on Five of course, who’s clearly coping with the restrictions to his freedom by dreaming up fantasies of violence, if he’d read the way the menace was ~~butchering~~ buttering his toast whilst glaring at Luther this morning correctly.

So yeah, Ben can deal, because it was either Klaus went out for a walk _alone_ (well, except for the sour puss himself, but he doesn’t count), or his sleep-deprived brain was going to lose its grip on reality, and his siblings would have to put him down as a kindness. He actually thinks he deserves an award for lasting a full five days before making the great escape.

He’s waltzing along down the street, swinging his arms, ignoring Ben, and minding his own business when he hears a “Klaus! Klaus, is that you my man?” from the alleyway he’s just passed.

Klaus stops in his tracks, a pit of dread forming in his stomach, and pivots slowly on his heels to face the alley. There’s a man leaning against the wall. His eyes are bright-baby blue with pin-point pupils, and his dirty blonde hair is falling in greasy curls around a once-handsome face. His smile is sharp, and one of his upper front teeth is chipped from what Klaus remembers was quite a spectacular punch to the mouth from Diego a few years back, when he’d found Klaus high as a kite buying gear from the guy. He’s wearing a long, dirty grey overcoat, and boots that are in only a slightly better state than Klaus’s own.

“I thought it was you! Man, I haven’t seen you around in ages, where’ve ya been? I was starting to think you must be dead!”

“Ricky,” Klaus greets, eyes guarded. The itch that lives under his skin flares up beautifully as he glances at the coat with _all the pockets_ where Ricky keeps his stock. He sees Ben move in closer, frowning.

“Man, Klaus, you’ve been missing some of the good stuff! I’ve had a real good supply recently, top notch. Who’ve you been going to on the regular instead? Darren? Fuck man, you know he cuts that shit with fuck-knows what.”

Klaus’s hands start to tremble, he clenches them into fists, and hides them in his coat. Ricky hones in on the movement, his smile predatory. Klaus clears his throat, and drags his eyes up to Ricky’s. It takes what feels like all of his willpower to hold them there, and not let them flicker down to where Ricky is fiddling with the worn pocket edge.

“No, actually,” He says, “I’ve been sober. I am sober.”

Ricky bursts into laughter, snorting and shaking his head. He points a skinny hand at Klaus, howling. “You? Sober? Ha! Ya having me on. Come on, I won’t ask ya to name name’s or nothin’. I get it, I get it. Confidentiality and all that shit, I respect that. But look, I bet I can cut ya a better deal, and it’ll be better stuff anyway. You know I only deal good quality shit.”

The hell he does, but Klaus had never cared much about that in the past. The sad truth was as long as it got him high, it was good enough for him. There’s a reason most of the dealers in the neighbourhood know him, and it’s not because he’s ever had a reputation for being choosy.

Something must show on Klaus’s face, because Ricky’s laugh trails off and his eyes widen. “Wait seriously? You’re sober? Shit man, I never thought I’d see the day!”

Klaus smiles sardonically. Yes, him neither. Once-upon-a-time, _which was actually a month ago but whatever_ , they’d both believed the day he stopped turning up for drugs would be the day he’d either overdosed himself into oblivion, or pissed off some drug lord enough that they’d chopped him up into bitesize pieces, and left him to rot in some car boot in the middle of nowhere.

“Yeah,” Klaus agrees, conscious of Ben still as a statue at his side, looking menacingly at Ricky. “So, whilst it was nice seeing you Ricky-”

“Yeah, yeah, man, I get it. I get it. It’s hard being so close to the stuff, yeah? Especially so soon since getting sober. Can only have been a few weeks, right?”

Klaus grimaces, but tilts his head in agreement. He’s somewhat accurate, a bit off if you take into account the time-hopping he did before coming back to the day of the apocalypse that never was. It’s fresh though, and he still feels the burning _need_ eating away hungrily inside his marrow.

Ricky shrugs his shoulders, and lets out a pitying sounding sigh. His hand that Klaus had been steadfastly refusing to look at, moves slowly away from the coat pocket. Held between his tar-stained index and middle fingers, is a clear plastic bag containing a very familiar dirty off-white powder.

Klaus can’t look away.

 _“Klaus-”_ Ben starts, growling, but Ricky cuts across him.

“That’s such a shame Klaus, really, that you got sober before trying this. I’ve even had to try some of it myself-” He says this as If he never usually samples the product, and in any other instance Klaus would laugh disbelievingly in his face, his pupils look like tiny dots across a wide blue sky. “- and woah Man,” he whistles, appreciatively, “-this shit is _thee shit_ Klaus. Are you sure you don’t want to give it a try? You know, before you get sober for real?”

Ricky’s eyes are wide, and Klaus can distantly acknowledge the amount of effort he’s making to force his features into a picture of what he’s obviously hoping is earnest friendliness.

He looks like a shark that’s just smelt blood in the water.

Klaus’s eyes feel stuck, he doesn’t think he could move them if he tried.

There’s a sudden flash of terrible excitement that sets his heart rate racing. He can almost smell the slight tang of vinegar in the air, and taste the bitterness sliding across his tongue. He feels the itch intensify further, particularly biting at the crook of his elbows and along the creases of his groin.

Maybe taking the drugs was actually the best option.

Maybe running into Ricky was a sign?

Sobriety was a right good party and all, _except it absolutely wasn’t_ , but Klaus couldn’t say with any confidence that it was actually doing him a whole lot of good. He was still failing to manifest Ben, and it had been _weeks_. Surely if he was going to be able to do that with any semblance of control, he would’ve had a result by now?

Plus, look at him, out here on the streets breaking his promises because he can’t cope with the ghosties going bump in the night. The drugs would stop all that, and he wouldn’t have to sneak out the house in the early hours, _he’d be safer_. Taking the drugs would make the ghosts quiet, he’d be able to actually sleep for more than two hours at a time, and it would give him relief from the constant, untouchable, unbearable itching under his skin.

And the euphoria _, God, the way it would feel._

The sensation he’d get seconds after the plunger depressed would be indescribable. Absolute all-consuming bliss as his worries floated away all at once, and he was left feeling weightless, warm, and free in its wake.

He’s missed it.

He’s missed it so fucking much.

“I- I don’t-” _want it? Know? Have enough cash on me?_ Klaus honestly doesn’t know what he intends to say as his voice trails off, swallowing hard, eyes fixed on the powder only a metre away from him, so easily within his reach.

Ricky smiles indulgently, all false sweetness and understanding. “Oh, you don’t have the cash right now? Don’t worry Klaus, we’ve been here before, haven’t we? There’s always _alternative_ methods of payment open between friends, and especially when they’re as pretty as you.”

Ricky steps towards him and brushes away a curl from Klaus’s forehead, thumb gently grazing his cheekbone. Klaus can’t help flinching slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. Ricky smirks knowingly and takes a step back, twisting the little bag tantalisingly around his fingers. “So, what do you say Klaus? It’d be just like old times.”

Klaus hesitates a moment too long.

Ben flies immediately into a rage, a blur of angry movement, and then he’s facing Klaus, blocking the heroin and Ricky from view. His muscles are trembling, his eyes look ablaze, and he’s glaring at him so hard it looks like it hurts. _“What the actual **fuck** Klaus, you can’t seriously be considering undoing all your hard work, and because of Rick the prick-”_

Ben looks so agitated and distraught, and he’s spitting out words at Klaus so furiously that it sends a terrible pang rolling through his chest. Klaus really does love his brother.

He doesn’t know if that’s enough.

He’s vaguely aware that there are people continuing to walk past the alleyway whilst all this is happening. Better people than him, who don’t have the word **_addict_** forever attached to their names, and who aren’t that reprehensible as human beings to have to question whether the drugs are more important to them than family. He pays them no attention. He looks at Ben, a painful lump in his throat, and then looks to where he thinks Ricky’s eyes would be if his brother wasn’t standing in the way.

Klaus opens his mouth to speak, absolutely no fucking clue what he’s actually about to say, inhales-

The scent hits him, familiar and awful and devastating.

Dave.

Dave on leave in Saigon, when he’d paid for that shitty hotel room that was all he could afford, so they could spend a few precious hours together without the watchful gaze of Uncle Sam. The room with the scratchy sheets, flickering lights, and the concerning carpet stains that both of them had decided not to mention.

The cheap aftershave Dave had found forgotten in the dusty bathroom cupboard. The moment when Klaus had put his nose to the soft skin at the juncture where Dave’s long neck met his shoulder, and just breathed him in, as Dave pressed him down into the sheets, surrounded him, intertwined their fingers and-

What the fuck is he doing.

Jesus, Ben’s right, what the **_actual_ _fuck_** is he doing.

Klaus staggers suddenly backwards, away from Ricky and the temptation in his hands. His foot catches on a can, sending it careening wildly across the ground, and he just manages to catch himself on the alleyway corner before he brains his head against the brick, his palms scraping roughly against the surface.

He makes enough of a commotion, that the man who had just walked past turns to look behind him frowning, and it’s not Dave, _not Dave_. Klaus knew that of course, knew it would be impossible, couldn’t be _his Dave_ , but it doesn’t matter, and he feels his heart shattering into a million pieces again all the same.

He doesn’t wait to see Ricky’s reaction, doesn’t wait for the man, _not-Dave_ , to open his mouth and ask Klaus if he’s ok like Dave would do. He runs.

He hears people shout and grunt in surprise he runs through them, pushing and shoving them out the way on the street. His pulse is roaring in his ears, and there’s an awful tightness behind his sternum. His throat feels hot and swollen, and every time he swallows against the rising acid there’s the stab of the razor blades inside.

He has to stop eventually, staggering against the side of a shop window and gasping useless breaths as his chest is crushed by a pair of invisible hands. He pushes his forehead against the cold glass, squeezes his eyes closed, and brings his hands up across his chest to cling desperately at the lapels of his coat. He tries, and fails, to _fucking remember how to breathe._

 _“Klaus? Klaus you’re ok.”_ He hears a voice say urgently, but it’s faint and sounds very far away. _“Klaus you’re alright.”_

Klaus wants to laugh, and laugh, and then cry, because he’s sure that people who are _alright_ don’t usually forget how to breathe on the regular.

An undeterminable amount of time later, he manages to inhale. There’s a brief moment of relief before the air rips cruelly through his trachea, catching sharply in his lungs, and then he’s coughing, and his eyes are streaming from behind squeezed lids. How long he stands there, spluttering against the glass, he doesn’t know, but when his lungs no longer feel like they’re about to make an appearance on the dirty sidewalk below, _which would be gross_ , he opens his eyes and is immediately confronted with his reflection in the window.

God, he looks like a right flipping mess. People are sending him concerned glances, and giving him a wide berth on the pavement, and it’s absolutely no fucking wonder. His eyes are red and puffy, his previously beautifully applied eyeliner is smudged, and his mascara is currently running lines down his face. His hair is also in a complete state, strands in all blooming directions. He can see Ben in the reflection of the glass, standing close behind him, looking worried. He sighs heavily.

“Just putting this out there now,” He says, wincing at the soreness in his throat. “We’re not talking about this.”

_“Klaus, I-”_

“Nope, no, don’t know what you’re talking about. Didn’t happen.”

_“Klaus, you’ve just had a freaking panic attack on the sidewalk! You were unresponsive! You can bet we’re talking-”_

“Don’t know what you’re talking about Ben, hallucinations again?”

A lady stops on the sidewalk corner, she looks at Klaus talking to what she can only see as empty air, and a sad, pitying look comes over her face. She reminds him of some of the do-gooders at the homeless shelters, the ones so desperate to help only so they can say _‘Hey look at me, helping out these poor, pathetic people who’ve messed up their lives, aren’t I great?’._ They boil his blood, and make him feel small and insignificant. She moves to step in his direction.

Klaus bares his teeth at her in a mockery of a smile, and says very loudly “But Satan, I don’t want to kill tonight! Please don’t make me kill again, I don’t want to!”

Alarm rushes on her face, and she quickly changes direction, stepping out onto the road and hurrying away. Klaus grins viciously, and turns to Ben who is watching him, unimpressed. _“Really, Klaus?”_

“Oh, you know the type Ben! Plus, if she was worth any salt, she wouldn’t have been frightened away by obvious misconceptions of schizophrenia, now would she?”

Ben just raises an eyebrow, _“You’re not doing the actual people with schizophrenia any favours with that little diversion technique.”_

Klaus shrugs, and his eye catches on a man walking down the path with a bullet hole in his head. He keeps walking through the few stragglers on the street, making them shiver.

_“Klaus, that panic attack-”_

“Oh, for God’s sake, **_Ben!_** ” He whines.

_“No, Klaus. You expect me to just ignore that? What the hell-”_

Klaus huffs out an annoyed breath, and turns to look at him. For once, he allows the utter exhaustion he can feel deep in his bones, bleed on to his face, hoping Ben will feel sorry enough for him to let it go. Ben stops abruptly, and stares at him anxiously for a moment. Then he exhales heavily, a crease forms between his eyebrows, and Klaus knows he’s won.

_“Fine. But we’re talking about this tomorrow, Klaus. I mean it.”_

“Wonderful,” Klaus says, pulling his coat tighter around himself and shivering at the chill in the air. “I’ll pencil that right in for never o’clock.”

Ben sends him a sharp glance, but seems to bite his tongue. The little worried crease remains.

A sudden car horn shocks them both, and they both whip their heads around to watch a cab driver slam suddenly on his breaks, and then lean threateningly out of his window to shout abuse at the drunken man trying to cross the road. The man staggers, and then points shakily in the vaguely correct direction of the cab, slurring curses back. There’s a flickering light behind them that catches Klaus’s attention, above the door of a twenty-four-hour diner that looks like it hasn’t seen a fresh pot of paint since the 1940’s.

Klaus grins, and claps his hands together, mask firmly back in place. “Until then Ben, I spy with my little eye something beginning with D! And no, get your head out of the gutter Benny-boy, I’m talking about the diner! Why don’t we go over there, and have a waffle before we go back to the madhouse?”

He may not have enough cash on him for drugs, but he’s sure he can scramble enough of the loose change he stole from Diego’s desk to pay for a waffle, and if that fails, he’ll use his pitiful appearance to try and score a discount. He’d spent the ten-dollar bill, that he’d also stolen from Diego, already on a packet of cigarettes earlier this evening.

He wipes roughly at his cheeks hastily, grimacing at the black smears his ruined make-up leaves on his hands, and moves to skip off the pavement and onto the road whilst the comedic duo is still holding up the - admittedly light, it is three o’clock in the morning after all - traffic. Ben puts out his arm suddenly, making him stop or walk straight through. Klaus stops abruptly, one foot on the road, and eyes him warily.

_“We’ll talk tomorrow, but I have to say one thing to you at least. I’m proud of you. That took a lot of strength to turn away back there.”_

Klaus swallows thickly, feeling guilt churn awfully in his stomach. The truth is he doesn’t know what he would’ve done if the man, not-Dave, hadn’t walked past in that moment.

He’d like to think that he was about to refuse, been strong just like Ben think’s, but he can feel the itch still riving angrily under his skin. There’s a part of him, a pretty big part, that wants to do nothing more than run right back to that alley, fall to his knees on the concrete, and end up with that little packet in his hands. There’s a huge possibility that if it wasn’t for that man and his obnoxious cheap aftershave, he’d be in the throes of a fucking great high right now.

“Yeah, yeah,” He says, rolling his eyes, and throwing a smirk on his face before Ben can detect anything amiss. He pretends he can’t feel the sick disappointment sitting heavily in his gut at the lost opportunity. “Can we go get waffles now? I’m feeling chocolate chip waffles, Oh! Or maybe those banana bread ones? There’s just so many good types of waffles, how is a man meant to _choose_ -” He whines, walking around Ben’s arm and across the road. He continues to ramble about waffles, and bad coffee, and Five’s unhealthy love of peanut butter to fill the silence and divert Ben’s attention.

It works beautifully, and eventually Ben relaxes, the tension draining out of him as he smiles at Klaus’s excitable ramblings. Klaus knows that Ben won’t forget, and that he’ll bother him later about tonight’s events, but for now at least he’s safe.

* * *

They do eventually make it back to the academy, dawn threatening on the horizon. The next obstacle they’re faced with is getting back in. They both stare warily up at the fire escape from the alley, their focus mainly on Five’s bedroom window that they’ll have to pass on their way up to reach the attic. Five hadn’t been in his room when they’d snuck out earlier, but there’s little chance of that now.

“Well,” Klaus starts heavily, a heavy sinking sensation in his gut. “It’s been a shit life, I can’t lie. But thanks for coming along for the ride, Ben. Muy apreciado.”

_“I did tell you, a thousand times, that leaving was a very bad idea.”_

“Wow, I sure am glad I have you around like a ghostly Jiminy Cricket, how do other people manage without you?”

 _“They have brain’s that work?”_ Ben offers, smirking. _“Good luck if Five catches you though, I’ve never before been happier that I’m already dead. His wrath is probably worse than being ripped apart by The Horror. I’ll go check he’s asleep for you."_

Ben disappears suddenly, leaving Klaus to hiss, “Too fucking soon, Ben!” at the empty air like a psychotic nutcase.

He reappears on the escape soon after, walking straight through Five’s bedroom wall, and beckoning Klaus to join him. The worried crease that Klaus had worked hard all night to chip away is back between his eyebrows again, but Klaus has no time to interpret nor interrogate Ben about it right now if he wants the opportunity to live to see dawn.

Walking quietly past Five’s window is probably up there on Klaus’s list of most terrifying experiences of his life, but he manages, and then he reaches the attic window he’d left cracked open slightly. Climbing back in through the window seems considerably harder than climbing out of it, and its way more difficult to do silently than how he remembers from his teenage years. He winces as his foot catches against the frame, making a loud knocking sound as he clambers inside. He stops, frozen, and listens.

After ten seconds of hearing only the irritating ring of tinnitus, and the faint moaning and wailing from inside the building, he exhales in relief and straightens up, throwing a double thumbs up at Ben. Bens lips twitch, and he shakes his head at him in the darkness.

“You’d think at the age of twenty-nine, I wouldn’t have to worry about sneaking in and out of my own house,” He whispers to Ben. “Or that I’d be so worried about sneaking past my thirteen-year-old brother’s window in case he finds out and stabs me in the eye.”

_“Well you’d think at the age of twenty-nine, you wouldn’t be stupid enough to sneak out the house in the first place when there’s potentially a group of highly-trained assassins out to kill you all, but here we are. Plus, he’s fifty-eight.”_

“Shut up, Ben!” Klaus says, grimacing as he slowly opens the creaky attic door.

_“Why were you so slow going past the window anyway? I thought you were definitely going to get caught. I told you, he was asleep; you were taking forever.”_

“Because he’s an assassin, in case you don’t remember!” He hisses, “Aren’t they meant to be like, super attuned to their environment or something? Doesn’t he sleep with one eye open? Are you sure the terror even sleeps at all?”

He sneaks quietly out of the attic, and starts down the staircase, avoiding the creaking spots with the ease of experience.

Ben huffs out a laugh, amused, and glides easily down the stairs past Klaus with no concerns whatsoever about how much noise he makes. The prick. _“Of course, he sleeps. You’re being ridiculous, he’s not an alien.”_

They reach the hallway, their bickering trailing off into silence, and Klaus tip-toes to his room, shutting the door gently behind him. Ben flops down on the armchair by his bed, more at ease now they’re back in the academy and off the streets. Klaus yawns tiredly, and stretches, feeling the muscles pop and his joints ache.

_“You should try and get some rest before breakfast, it’s a training day today.”_

Klaus groans, and throws himself headfirst on the bed. “Why is this my life,” he whines petulantly. “Why couldn’t I have been destined to be an accountant in Michigan or something.”

Ben snorts loudly. _“You were never, ever, going to be an accountant in Michigan Klaus. I’m positive that even in all the different dimensional versions of you that exist, there is not one of you that can do any maths more complicated than basic multiplication tables, and even that’s pushing it.”_ God, Ben was such a _nerd._

Klaus blindly reaches for the pillow, and throws it in Ben’s direction, hearing him squawk at the unexpected attack. There’s the faint chanting of _Klaus! Klaus! Klaus!_ getting closer, and there are heavy stumbling footsteps coming from down the hall. He groans again, and twists his head to the side to look at Ben. “Oh great, our uninvited guests have arrived late to the party.”

Ben winces in sympathy, looking between Klaus and the door, but he doesn’t offer any other consolation, there’s nothing he can say after all. Klaus sighs, and rolls over to stare at the ceiling, waiting for the inevitable. But at least he managed to eat tonight, even if he didn’t sleep, that’s good right?

* * *

Klaus can tell Dave’s smiling, it’s that tender smile he does when he thinks Klaus isn’t looking. They’re intertwined on the bedsheets, Klaus’s feet tangled with Dave’s, and his head resting on Dave’s chest. He’s tracing patterns lightly against his boyfriend’s skin, fingertips brushing against the barely-noticeable blonde hairs scattered there, enthralled with the way the light dances across them and makes them look like little flashing stars. They’re just resting, just being, and Klaus feels so happy and hopelessly in love he could cry.

They lay there, breathing each other in, each smiling secret smiles they think the other doesn’t see. After a while, Klaus traces a path south, feeling the abdominal muscles ripple under his hand as he descends. He stops at Dave’s pubic bone, and gently tickles the skin there, pressing his smile to Dave’s sternum when he feels the muscles jump at the touch.

Dave huffs a laugh against Klaus’s hair, moving his hand from where it was drawing incomprehensible pictures across Klaus’s back, to brush away the damp tousled curls on Klaus’s forehead. He leans down and presses a tender kiss there, and Klaus presses a chaste kiss reverently over the beating skin below him in return.

“I love you,” Dave murmurs, running his hand down Klaus’s neck to glide across his shoulder.

Klaus tilts his head, looking up at Dave through his eyelashes, who uses the opportunity to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. Klaus grins, and ducks his head to lie safety back on Dave’s chest.

“I love you too,” He sighs softly against the skin, tasting the salt, and feeling so overwhelmed with love he could burst.

He closes his eyes, just relishing the feel of being held lovingly in warm arms, when his fingertips brush against something warm and slippery. He frowns, and tries to smudge it away with his thumb, but it feels like more wetness runs to takes its place. He blinks his eyes open, shifting to rest above Dave on one elbow, and looks down.

There’s blood all over Dave’s skin. A gaping hole in his chest. Klaus can see the snapped jagged edge of bone, and the ripped tissues underneath. Dave’s gasping, a gurgle in his throat, and his chest isn’t moving in the right way.

“Dave, Dave!” He panics, hands hovering, and then pressing firmly against the wound. Dave’s body twitches in agony, still gasping and choking.

There’s blood running down from his mouth, and he’s eyes are wide and frightened looking up at Klaus, and then suddenly they’re in the ditch, and there’s mud and sandbags, the smell of burnt flesh and napalm in his nose. The Charlie’s are shooting at them, the bullets flying left, right, and centre, and it doesn’t matter because Dave is dying in his arms and Klaus can’t do a single thing to stop it.

“Dave, Dave, stay with me, Dave. Dave, Dave, Dave,” He’s crying, and he’s pressing down with all his might, but the blood is just bubbling up between his fingers, painting his hands in red. Dave’s breaths are stuttering awfully, and his eyes are turning glassy. The fear is leaking from his irises as cold death takes its place.

There’s a terrible stillness, and Dave’s chest just **_stops._** Reginald Hargreeves appears, peering down over Klaus’s shoulder disapprovingly.

“You knew this would happen Number Four,” Reginald Hargreeves says sternly. “Death was always a jealous mistress.”

And Klaus gasps and –

He bolts up in bed, heart racing frantically in his chest. He throws off the covers, feet tangling in the sheets, and flies to the bathroom. He skids on the tile floor, and promptly vomits violently in the toilet, tears coming to his eyes and streaming down his cheeks. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, what the fuck._

He gasps, left cheek pressing against the cold ceramic as he tries to focus. He can feel the icy tile beneath his toes, and his sweaty top is sticking uncomfortably to the skin of his back. There’s the faint sounds of clattering and banging coming from downstairs. Someone laughs, it sounds like Diego, and he can hear something metallic thud against a wall, and the laugh stops abruptly, replaced by what sounds like resentful grumbling.

He’s in the academy. It’s 2019. It’s morning. His siblings are predictably throwing butter knives at each other before breakfast. Just a regular day in the Hargreeves household.

Klaus takes a deep breath in and then exhales heavily, grimacing at the foul taste on his tongue. He waits for the trembling to stop in his limbs, and when he feels his legs might actually hold his weight, he pushes himself off the floor and cleans himself up. He brushes his teeth, throws icy water at his face and hair, and then walks tiredly back to his room, shutting the door behind him.

He ignores the man weeping in the corner, and the old lady staring longingly out of his window wringing her bony hands, and sits cross-legged on the floor. He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, and takes deep breaths, trying to imagine all of the panic, pain, and despair seeping away from him. He lets his hands fall to clutch at the tags around his neck, opens his eyes, and stares determinedly at the empty space across from him.

Dave.

Think of Dave.

He closes his eyes again, visualises mud-streaked dirty blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes, and a mischievous grin. He frowns in concentration, trying to hold the picture there, but it keeps blurring; red smears splashing across white teeth, and eyes becoming wide and terrified.

He bites his lip, tastes copper flooding his mouth, and squeezes his fists where they’re resting on his legs. He thinks of Dave’s voice, _‘I swear to Christ Klaus, if you take another step in that direction-‘,_ he thinks of the feel of warm skin under his hands, he thinks of the way Dave laughed, and the way Dave kissed him.

But then the images flood in, and he remembers the way Dave jerked in agony, the way his life poured out of him onto Klaus’s hands, and the way he’d choked as his lungs filled with blood. Klaus gasps horribly, looking up at the ceiling and blinking tears from his eyes. God, he’s never going to be able to do this.

He shakes his head, takes a deep shaky breath, and tries again. He feels for the power tickling enticingly around his fingertips, and he tries to catch it and bend it to his will. He imagines sending the power out in all directions, a summons, a call to a lost solider. The man in the corner abruptly stops weeping and turns to look at him, and the lady steps away from the window and hobbles towards him. The chanting in the house grows louder and more insistent _Klaus! Klaus! Klaus!_ but Dave doesn’t appear. The ghosts surround him, growing louder and louder, and he’s left sitting there with wet cheeks and a broken heart, as dead hands try to grasp and grab at him.

Ben appears in the doorway, and Klaus has to look away, ashamed, from the pity on his face. He swallows down the nausea, gets up from the floor, and walks towards his wardrobe, shivering as he walks through the reaching bodies.

He pulls out the hanger with his uniform on, and silently starts to get changed. The uniform isn’t exactly a uniform per say, in that Klaus has absolutely refused to wear the monstrosity Luther had commissioned for them, and has replaced it entirely with a uniform of his own choosing – consisting of tight black leggings, a black long-sleeved top, and a black jacket. Luther had been utterly exasperated with him, accusing him of being difficult for the sake of it, but he wasn’t running the risk of ending up in that academy get-up for the first few months of ghosthood when God finally let him kick the bucket. Plus, he and Ben could be the ghost twins of darkness. 

It had taken months for Ben’s appearance to change from a gory mess of blood and bowels in a tattered uniform, to the cool and shady look he rocks now. Ben denied doing anything, said it must have been all Klaus’ doing, but Klaus knows he’s lying. With that logic the rest of the ghosties should look like movie stars and models on the cover of Vogue, _which they absolutely **do not.**_

Ben walks across the room as he changes, sitting on his bed, and sending a mutinous look at the ghost closest to Klaus. Ben has always been different to the other ghosts, seemingly exactly the same in death as he was in life. Klaus wonders if it has something to do with the way he’d conjured Ben, the way he seems tethered to him now. Sometimes he feels guilty that Ben is around, worried that it’s his fault that Ben hasn’t moved to the great beyond. He hasn’t ever brought it up with Ben, and he wouldn’t, he’s selfishly terrified that Ben might suddenly realise he shouldn’t be here and leave his side for good.

Ben also seems to be able to do some things that the other ghosts can’t. For one, he seems to be able to change his appearance, although he’s only really done it the once except for the aging thing. Klaus has told him a thousand times how tragically sad that makes him, and Ben always sighs exasperatedly back at him, and tells him, _‘If it bothers you so much, change it. I’ve told you, it’s not me.’_ Lies, absolute lies.

The second, is that Ben can disappear and reappear **_intentionally_** in a different spot. They’ve only tested it at small distances, too worried that he might disappear and end up having to walk all the way back from Mexico or something. Ben doesn’t like to do it anyway, says it’s a difficult feeling to describe but extremely unpleasant, as if all the ghostly atoms holding him together are forcibly ripped apart and then smushed back together again on the other side.

The third, is Ben’s always there, and to be fair a few of the other ghosts are too, hovering around a particular person or certain place and never leaving, but a lot of them seem to come and go for long periods, like some of Five’s posse. He doesn’t really understand it, but neither does Ben and he’s one of them.

When Klaus had first conjured Ben, he hadn’t been able to see anything past the blood, the gore, and the fact his brother was dead. He’d tried to tell his siblings that Ben was still around once the initial horror had worn off a bit, he hadn’t been on that last mission with them after all, and he hadn’t seen Ben’s broken and ripped apart body until he saw him as a ghostie, _but Christ, what a shit-show that conversation had ended up turning into._

He’d left the academy not long after, and lost himself in a haze of drugs. Ben was always there. He’d fade a bit when the drugs first hit, but he never disappeared completely, which was odd. Once Klaus had clicked onto this fact, he’d wondered if he’d gone mad, if he hadn’t actually conjured his brother at all, but was only hallucinating him so he wasn’t alone.

They’d had a huge row about it once Klaus had brought it up in a drunken fit of despair, and it was Ben who’d eventually broken down in tears, screaming that if not even Klaus knew he was there, then _what was the fucking point?_ He’d decided then, that it didn’t matter if Ben was really there or not, as long as he never saw his brother like that again. But turns out Ben had been there at his side all along, and Klaus had really known that for years now, but he still couldn’t deny that sudden small flash of relief that had rushed through him when Luther had said _‘God, it’s him, Ben!’_ in the theatre.

The ghostie hovering closest to him, the weepy man, reaches for his arm, his hand going straight through. Klaus snarls and steps away, pulling on his jacket and shivering at the coldness that settles deep inside his bones. He combs his fingers through his hair pointlessly, quickly reapplies his eyeliner, and then walks out the door. Ben follows silently behind him, oddly subdued.

* * *

They end up stood outside in the courtyard by Ben’s fixed – and still ugly – statue. Klaus is smoking a cigarette from the pack he’d bought before bumping into Ricky. The smell of the smoke calms his nerves, and after a moment he registers the strange lack of nagging his first cigarette of the day usually gets him. He glances at Ben beside him, frowning.

“So, which one of them threw a knife at Diego this morning then?”

Bens lips are pressed tightly together, a furrow on his brow as he watches the little ghost girl wander around the courtyard, dragging a skipping rope behind her. She’s one of the familiar ghosts that he and Ben are used to, and she died when Klaus was six in one of the houses across the street. He remembers seeing the blue flashing lights and nearly getting caught by Dad peeking out the academy window to look at them. She’d been playing with her skipping ropes on the landing by the stairs, tripped, and fell. Klaus had been able to see her a few days later; they’d even played together in the courtyard sometimes during his weekly allocated minutes of free-time.

However, Ben’s seen her around enough since returning to the academy that Klaus knows she can’t be the reason for his downcast demeanour, as sad as the sight of her might be.

“Hey!” Klaus snaps, poking a finger through Ben’s shoulder. They both grimace at the sensation, and Ben sends him a reproachful look, rubbing at the offended spot. “Earth to Casper, are you even listening to me?”

“What?”

“I asked you which one of our lovely stab-happy siblings decided to throw a knife at Diego this morning?” Klaus asks, and then bemoans, “Does that count as attempted murder? Damn, I knew I should have set up the betting pool.”

Ben spends a moment longer frowning at him, before he seems to shake himself out of whatever weird mood he was in, and rolls his eyes, putting his hands in his pockets and relaxing his shoulders.

 _“It was Five, like you even needed to ask,”_ He says, lips twitching. _“It was really all Allison’s fault though. She was the one who decided to bring up Five’s drinking habits at seven in the morning. Diego laughed, and then ended up in the crossfire.”_

Klaus whistles, admiration for Allison increasing. “She’s brave, trying to have an intervention for the little hellion before he’s even had his morning coffee. I’m surprised they all left the table relatively unscathed. They did, didn’t they?”

 _“They did,”_ Ben confirms, with a small grin on his face. _“Although not with their pride intact. Five doesn’t really take criticism or familial concern all that well. I think even Luther was ready to shed a tear once Five was finished with the verbal dressing-down he spat at them.”_

Klaus barks out a laugh, and takes another drag of the cigarette. He watches the pattern of the smoke in the air as it curls towards the murky sky. “That’s Five,” He agrees, grinning.

Ben inclines his head in agreement, watches Klaus for a moment, and then his face becomes troubled again. _“You’re all so messed up,”_ He sighs heavily.

“Hey!” Klaus splutters, and points at Ben with the cigarette. “That’s an entry-level requirement to being a Hargreeves sibling! I don’t think that trait skipped you either, Benjamin.”

The troubled look doesn’t disappear from Ben’s face though, and he frowns back at the house. _“I think Five’s been hiding food in his room,”_ He confesses, _“And Allison spends an awful long time staring at the wall in her room after her phone calls with Claire. Luther’s not sleeping well either, he keeps going down to the training rooms at night to use the punching bags, and he’s not been bothering to wrap his hands correctly.”_

Klaus feels the first stirrings of worry worm its way into his chest, but he pushes it back with a false grin on his face, and a laugh in his voice. “God Ben, death has made you such a gossip,” He says teasingly, tapping the ash off the end of the cigarette onto the statue.

Ben glares at him, _“I’m worried about them Klaus. I’m worried about you.”_

“Don’t be,” Klaus snorts humorously, “Not about me anyway, I’m in tip-top shape. Peak of health.”

_“Ignoring that absolutely scandalous lie right there for a second, they need help Klaus. You all need to look out for each other.”_

“Well, what are you telling me all this for? I’m the last person they would, or should, come to for help.”

_“No, you’re not. But either way Klaus, you’re the only one I can tell right now. It’s not like I can go and talk to them myself-”_

Klaus tries his very hard to hide his flinch, but Ben knows him too well, and his face falls in dismay. He throws his hands out of his pockets in frustration.

 _“-No, I didn’t mean it like that Klaus, you know I didn’t. I’ve seen how much you’ve been trying, and I couldn’t be more proud of you-”_ Klaus shifts uncomfortably, feeling embarrassed with the praise. _“But it’s probably going to take a while before you’re able to make me tangible long enough to have a conversation-”_ and bless him, for saying it like making Ben tangible is a given at all. _“- so, you might have to be the one to talk to them instead.”_

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” He protests immediately, feeling vaguely ill at the thought of voluntarily walking up to Five and asking him to stop hiding teacakes in his underwear draw. “The last time I tried to have a serious conversation I got strangled, thrown to the floor, killed, and then got bitched at in the afterlife by a pissy girl on a bicycle. Not to mention the heart-to-heart with dear old Reginald. God only knows what Five would do.”

Ben’s eyes flash at the reminder, and he looks back at the house. “ _Well maybe let Luther continue his punching-bag routine for a few more days before you confront him,”_ he says, lips twitching.

Klaus giggles, dropping the cigarette and grinding it into the stone with his sneaker. He knows Ben’s only joking, he doesn’t have a malicious ghost bone in his ghostly body.

“Well go on then, continue with the gossip Mr Entertainment Weekly. How about Vanya and Diego? How are they doing?”

 _“Vanya’s actually doing fine, all things considered,”_ Ben says, a fond smile on his face. Klaus ignores the irrational spike of jealousy at the words. He knows Ben’s always had a soft spot for their littlest sister. Ben, Five, and Vanya had formed quite the golden trio of academics when they were younger, before Five had disappeared, and Ben had grown more distant as he struggled more and more to control the monster lurking inside his belly.

Luther and Allison had always been joined at the hip, and Diego with them when he wasn’t following Mom around, despite the constant bickering. The three of them, but mostly Luther and Diego, were always in a competition of some sort with each other, mainly for Dad’s attention. Klaus had always been the odd one out, never really fitting in anywhere, and mostly ghost’s for company. Maybe that’s why Pogo always seemed to have a bit of a soft spot for him compared with the others, before years of disappointment filed that away.

_“-I think the talks she’s been having with everyone, and the training sessions with Five are really helping. Plus, she’s still going to therapy, although it’s through her laptop at the moment, I think. I can’t imagine what she actually tells them though.”_

“And Diego?” Klaus asks, spotting Pogo step out the backdoor into the courtyard, hobbling his way slowly over towards Klaus. He tries to run through all the things he’s done in the past few days that would make Pogo seek him out to berate him, but the list is too long for him to prepare any good excuses. He grimaces, and picks out another cigarette and lights it.

 _“Diego, he’s – struggling,”_ Ben finally decides on, _“He lost his ex-girlfriend just before the whole apocalypse shit went down-”_

“The lady-cop,” Klaus murmurs, guilt eating away at his insides. Five hadn’t been able to save her. He hadn’t been able to save Ben either, said it would change too much; the point at which the Umbrella Academy irrevocably broke apart and spat them out on their own paths in life.

 _“-and he’s been having nightmares. But it does seem like he’s been getting better recently. I think he’s more worried about everyone else to be honest.”_ Typical Diego, the worrier. If he ever got over his need to look manly and heroic, he’d honestly become the perfect mother hen, coming only second-place to Ben.

“Master Klaus,” Pogo says, finally reaching them. “I was wondering if I may speak with you?”

He’s looking at Klaus patiently, but Klaus sees his gaze flicker to the cigarette ash on Ben’s statue with disapproval. Whatever, Ben hates the stupid thing anyway. Klaus had told his siblings not to bother fixing It, but he’d been ignored, _again._ It is very entertaining though, to watch Ben glare at the sodding thing whenever he sees it. It’s mostly the reason Klaus uses it as his go-to smoking spot, the other reason being his siblings don’t really like coming to stand by Ben’s grave, but Klaus has always had a strange relationship with death so it’s not like that’s going to bother him.

“Sure, Pogo,” He says with an easy smile. He leans his shoulder against the cold stone and crosses his legs. “What can Ben and I do for you?”

In truth, Klaus isn’t really sure how he feels about Pogo. There’s a complicated tangle of emotions that emerges every time he sees the chimp. There’s no question that Pogo loves them all dearly, he essentially raised them with Mom. He taught them to speak, to walk, and how to read. He was a constant in their lives, albeit sometimes an exasperated one, and Klaus can remember many times when Pogo made an unbearable situation, maybe not bearable, but slightly less unbearable.

He remembers being Four years old when the first ghost appeared, a noose around the dead man’s neck and a wail on his pale lips. He remembers dashing from his chair, eyes wide with terror, and running around the table as the man shuffled slowly after him, long arms reaching for him, neck broken, and eyes rolling madly in their sockets.

He was sent to his room early that night, without dinner, because ‘ _Acting hysterically, scared of your own imagination, will **not be tolerated** Number Four!’_ Of course, he thinks Dad must have known the truth then, when he’d grabbed Klaus’s small bony wrist and dragged him up the stairs. Could not have failed to realise, when he’d heard little Klaus stuttering in horror about the tall man with the rope, and the neck that wouldn’t stay upright, that it wasn’t just a figment of his child’s imagination.

He’d left Klaus alone his room to face the ghost anyway, Dad’s typical fucked-up exposure therapy, and Klaus had done what any other child would have done, and had dived immediately under his duvet cover, trembling and crying in fear.

He’d only dared leave his safe place hours later when Pogo had quietly entered his room with a “Young Master Four?” and sat on the bed, placing a warm hand on his back. Pogo had coaxed him out, snuck him some of the chocolate that was only allowed in the house for when Five had special training, and let him sit on his knee, and hide his face in his neck. Klaus had listened as Pogo had murmured to him, telling him that although what he was seeing might be scary, it couldn’t hurt him. Klaus couldn’t blame him for that, he’d thought it true at the time.

He remembers being fourteen, feeling lost, broken, and traumatised as he climbed through the attic window, coming down from a scary high and still feeling the man’s bruising hands on his skin. He’d come face to face with Dad, who had known he’d snuck out of course, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen dear old Reggie look quite as livid as he did the moment he’d honed in on Klaus’s dilated pupils and shaking hands, and realised his disappointment of a son had moved on to hard drugs.

The subsequent shouting match had been epic to say the least, his siblings all peering around the doorframe in horror as Klaus laughed, and laughed, and laughed in the face of their father’s fury, because he knew then that there were things out there in the world that could hurt him more than Reginald ever could.

Pogo had come to his room later that night too, which was unsurprising. Whilst Klaus doubts that his siblings, or his Father, being far too enraged, noticed anything other than Klaus’s obvious drug use that night, Pogo could always be counted upon to be most perceptive of the bunch. He’d knelt on the floor by Klaus’s bed and asked him quietly if he was hurt. When Klaus hadn’t responded, he’d remained kneeling on the floor for hours, even though his ageing joints must have ached terribly, just humming soothingly under his breath. He hadn’t tried to touch Klaus.

It had been when daylight started streaming through the window, and Klaus had raised his red rimmed eyes to look at Pogo, and their eyes had met, that he’d broke. He’d clung to Pogo on the floor as he’d sobbed, crying over what he’d lost that night, feeling rage at the world, and breathing wheezing promises that he’d never use the drugs again. Pogo had been quick to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that Klaus hadn’t deserved what had happened to him, and he’d latched onto the words like a lifeline and tried his hardest to believe them. He had been high again not a week later. He still doesn’t know if Pogo ever told another soul about that night.

The thing is though, whilst Klaus remembers Pogo’s kindness, he also remembers Pogo’s silence. He remembers his silence on the way to the Mausoleum, Klaus’s eyes begging him through the mirror to stop the car, to turn around, to say **_no_ **when he wasn’t brave enough to. Pogo never did.

He remembers Pogo’s silence as he stood and watched as Dad raised a hand to Klaus, the only time he’d ever done so, when Klaus had raided his alcohol cabinet after that final, **_horrendous_** , Mausoleum trip. _The time Klaus had brought the dead to life, and they had touched him, dragged their nails across his skin, and gouged at his flesh to make him bleed –_

The time Klaus had screamed right in his father’s face, that _there was_ _no fucking point bringing him to that place if he couldn’t see the ghosties now was there?_

He’d locked the door to his room afterwards, with the lock Diego had illicitly put on for him when they were twelve. He’d swallowed around the painful lump in his throat when he’d watched the doorknob turn, and then listened to the slow footsteps that limped away. It had been the beginning of the end for him that night, when he’d decided the drugs hurt less than the dead.

He remembers Pogo’s silence as they all stood around Ben’s coffin, dear old Dad telling them all that Ben’s death was their fault, that _‘The Umbrella Academy have failed one of their own,”_. Pogo’s silence had felt awfully like an agreement.

He now also knows about the worst thing Pogo has ever done, when he’d stood silently by as Reginald Hargreeves ordered a little Number Three to rumour a tinier Number Seven into believing she was _ordinary_. He now knows about all the silences that had followed as Vanya was excluded and isolated, falling further into a pit of depression and self-hatred, and all her self-worth just fading away as Pogo averted his gaze.

So yes, Klaus has complicated feelings about Pogo, and he doesn’t even know how to begin unravelling it.

“I was rather hoping I could speak with you alone, if that is alright?”

Klaus slides his eyes to Ben, who shrugs and starts walking towards the backdoor. Klaus can’t help shouting, “It’s because you’re such a gossip Ben! Your reputation is catching, you’ve started down a dark path mon frère!” at Ben’s retreating back, and snickering when he throws him the middle finger without bothering to turn around as he disappears through the door of the academy.

“Gossip?” Pogo asks, a small smile on his elderly face. “I can’t imagine Master Ben enjoying such things.”

“Oh Pogo, you’d be surprised,” Klaus laughs, “He’s not the boy scout you remember.”

Pogo looks sad then, forehead wrinkling over kind brown eyes. “Yes, I daresay you’ve all changed.”

Klaus can’t help the pang of pity he feels for Pogo, stuck in the old stuffy mansion with only Dad, Grace, and god-forbid _Luther_ for company all those years. “Don’t worry Pogo,” He says. “I’m still the same lovable, immature individual you remember. Just with a few more tattoos added to the old collection.”

“Master Klaus, I think we both know that isn’t quite true.”

“What? You don’t believe I’ve got more tattoos?” He says in false amusement, deliberately being obtuse and trying to veer the conversation way off course before it goes any further in the other dangerous direction.

“I think, that thirteen years on the streets battling a drug addiction, and who knows what else, will fundamentally change a person.”

He fails miserably, obviously. This is Pogo he’s talking to.

“I wouldn’t quite use the word battling Pogo, that’s definitely not the right word. More like embracing-”

“Master Klaus,” Pogo interrupts, and Klaus lets his voice trail off as he stares at Pogo, who looks back at him with a patient expression.

“What is it that you wanted Pogo?” He asks eventually, growing uncomfortable in the silence.

“I want to know if you’re alright,” Pogo says, then frowns when he catches Klaus opening his mouth to immediately reassure him that _he’s fine, positively dandy_. “- and for you to remember, dear boy, that I’ve always been able to tell when you’re lying to me.”

“What!” Klaus gasps mockingly, covering his mouth dramatically with his hand. “I would never!”

Pogo stares at him, mouth tight, before he sighs heavily and looks over to the area where they’d ~~dumped~~ scattered Dad’s ashes. A look of regret comes across his wizened old face. “I know that I’ve broken your trust,” He murmurs sadly. “I let you all down over the years. I’ve had a lot of time for reflection, my boy, and whilst it is no excuse, I truly thought at the time that I was doing the right thing. Your father-”

“You were **_complicit_** _._ ”

Klaus doesn’t know who’s more shocked by the bitterly spat words, him or Pogo. Pogo jerks back as if Klaus has physically stuck him, stumbling, and then fumbling to catch his cane before it falls to the floor. He looks up at Klaus with wide, devastated eyes, and Klaus thinks he suddenly looks ancient, like a gentle breeze could break him apart into dust.

Klaus stares stupidly, mouth agape.

Pogo nods hastily, his old wrinkled fingers clutching tightly at his cane. “You’re right, you’re right, of course.” He says, and Klaus is horrified to his eyes shine wetly. His voice sounds thick, as if the words are struggling to get past his throat. Klaus has never once seen Pogo cry. “I was, and for what it may be worth to you, I am sorry. I know I don’t deserve your trust, or your forgiveness.”

Klaus knows he should say something, anything, but he’s frozen. He can only stare, appalled at himself, as a tear runs down the old chimp’s face.

“I hope if you cannot confide in me, that you find you can speak to one of your siblings. I wish I could take away all the pain, dear boy, but I can’t. Sharing the struggle between yourselves will help make the burden lighter to bear.”

Klaus opens his mouth, but no words come out. He fights with himself desperately, trying to think of something to say which will fix this, but when he eventually finds his vocal cords all that escapes is a broken sounding “Pogo-” before he stops, speechless, utterly unable to find the right words, any words, to say.

Pogo gives him a sorrowful little smile of understanding, the tears still shine in his eyes. “I believe I have kept you long enough, Master Klaus. Your family will be waiting for you.” A pause. “I will leave the academy once I have arranged suitable alternative lodgings. I will not impose on you and your siblings if my presence here is causing distress. I know I have done enough damage here.”

Pogo turns, already starting the slow shuffle back to the door, when Klaus’s brain comes back online.

“Pogo- No, wait. I-”

Pogo stops, and looks back, the expression on his face is one of a man bracing himself for the final executioner’s blow. Klaus feels awful. “Yes, Master Klaus?”

“Please don’t go,” He blurts out. “Look I know that you’ve done some bad things, made some bad decisions, and there’s a lot of shit to go through there, especially with Vanya and her powers and whatever, but Pogo, you’re family. My family. Please, I don’t- I can’t-”

And then he’s stumbling over his words again, the thought of the academy without Pogo is _wrong._

But Pogo seems to understand what he’s trying to say anyway. The old chimp hobbles back towards him again, despite how much his cracking joints must be paining him from the chill in the wind today, and grasps Klaus’s hand in a gentle squeeze. He smiles at Klaus with gentle affection.

“If you want me to stay, my boy, then I’d be honoured.” He says tenderly, giving Klaus’s hand one last squeeze before letting go. “Now, go and see your siblings, they were heading to the training rooms when I last saw them. Oh, and please extinguish that cigarette before you enter the house, it’s not good for anyone’s lungs, never mind growing ones.”

Klaus smirks, extinguishing the cigarette on Ben’s statue, and ignoring the slight wince Pogo makes at the action. “I’m going to tell Five you said that.”

“Hm,” Pogo says, a small smile on his face.

Klaus decides his siblings can wait a few minutes longer. Plus, he does have a reputation to uphold as the fashionably late one anyway. He loops his arm through Pogo’s and help’s him slowly back across the courtyard.

When they enter the academy, Klaus watches him walk in the direction of his bedroom, and just before Pogo leaves through the door, Klaus calls out “Oh, by the way Pogo, please drop the Master Klaus thing, it’s just Klaus.”

“Of course, Master Klaus,” he replies, his cane tapping against the floor as he walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone! Thanks for all your responses to this story, all your comments and kudos have made my week! Here's another chapter, sorry it's a bit later than planned - on call's, you know? :( Anyway, enjoy! Please note the trigger warnings.


	3. Chapter Three

Life at the academy continues predictably.

Luther continues to be his annoyingly self-righteous self (although Klaus will admit, he’s trying to be better), Diego retains his title of leather-wearing fashion disaster, Allison remains the most sensible and long-suffering of the group, Five’s still feral, Ben wears his badge of _‘Hello, my name is Ben. I’m your ghost conscience. How can I be ignored today?’_ with frustrated resignation, Vanya literally glows in her brilliance, and Klaus fails to be anything other than **_absolutely fucking useless._**

Klaus sighs heavily from his place lying on the mat in the training room, staring up at the ceiling, winded. His limbs feel heavy and sore, and every time he so much as thinks about moving, his abused muscles protest painfully. He thinks his bruises have bruises. Hell, he thinks he might have a smidge of internal bleeding somewhere in the region of his liver, and that’s definitely seen enough trauma to last for a few lifetimes.

“Hey Klaus! Come on, stop being a pussy and get your skinny ass over here!”

He ignores Diego, instead watching the way the ceiling looks like it’s tilting back and forth as if he’s out at sea. It had been a bad idea to skip breakfast this morning, but the smell of burnt bacon had made his stomach roll, and for a moment he’d been _almost_ convinced he was back in the stifling hot jungle, waist-deep in stinking swampland, under attack, with gunfire flying through the trees and the bodies of blown-up friends around him, the choking stench of burning flesh in the air.

It wasn’t a flashback.

It wasn’t _post-traumatic stress disorder._

He’d just been a little lost in his memories for a moment.

Everyone daydreams, and he’s _super-duper_ sleep deprived thanks to the ghosties.

No biggie.

Ben’s just a worry-wort.

Skipping out on breakfast wouldn’t usually be an issue if they were just working on their powers. But nope, today they’d also been working on their _combat skills_ , because Five happened to be a bit of a paranoid bastard, and with the increasing number of suspected Temps Commission agent sightings he’d managed to infect the others with enough of his neurosis to set everyone’s teeth on edge.

Luther and Five had unfortunately both agreed, despite their tiresome ‘ _I’m Number one, I’m the leader, therefore I make the decisions’ ‘No, I’m the eldest, and I’m also the smartest, so you should be listening to me’_ dick-measuring contest, that the team was very much out of fighting shape, and that this required urgent remedying. Hence why Klaus was laid slowly dying after a brutal hand-to-hand combat session with Allison, who obviously wouldn’t know the meaning of the word mercy if it came up and bit her on the ass.

The earlier half of the training session had also been an absolute barrel of funsies, as he’d tried to will Ben’s corporal form into existence with exactly zero success. He’d seen the glances the others had sent his way, and the doubtful look on Luther’s face as if Klaus was just sat glaring at empty air for no fucking reason. But screw them, it’s not like it’s his fault he got landed with the worst powers imaginable in the power’s lottery, or that his powers seem to decide whether they’re going to play game or not like a freaking Jack-in-the-box.

Although, thank God he didn’t get Five’s powers. Ben’s right, Klaus is absolutely shit at maths, and his bones would probably be residing in some Tetradactyly’s nest in the Jurassic era right now if he’d even managed to time travel in the first place. Five hadn’t commented on his powers, but he hadn’t been impressed with his combat skills today, that’s for sure.

But Klaus had the body of a lover, not a fighter.

Maybe he should have taken those sparring sessions with Dave a tad more seriously. There had been some quieter days in Vietnam, when all the guys had been otherwise preoccupied, and Dave would walk Klaus a little ways away from camp to somewhere slightly more private. He’d try to get him to practice hand-to-hand combat in case he was ever left stranded without his M-16, or ambushed without a squad to save his ass. Dave had **not** appreciated Klaus pointing out that it was extremely unlikely the Charlie’s would be unarmed, and he’d have a bullet in his brain before he could even think about lifting his arm, and he’d been dragged along to practice anyway.

He’d hold his hands up as being completely to blame for the lack of combat practice that actually ended up occurring, despite Dave’s best intentions. He’d turn wrong, make a deliberate miss-step, and _oops_ , end up trapped in Dave’s warm, muscled arms _again_. Dave would berate him, but the twitching lips would give him away, and then he wouldn’t be able to hold in his reluctant laughter.

Klaus had usually taken this as his cue to twist in Dave’s arms, somehow always surprising him, drop to his knees, and sneak dangerous kisses down his belly, his groin, and swallow him down until his nose was pressed against Dave’s warm skin. He remembers how Dave would tip his head back and gasp, how his long fingers would thread through Klaus’s curls and _pull_ until Klaus saw stars and let out muffled whimpers around him, a thrill in knowing if they were caught, they’d be done for.

 ** _God, he loves that man_**.

He never thought it was possible to miss someone so much that it physically aches to think of them.

Dave had actually been pleased to know that Klaus, did in fact, have some dusty combat skills kicking around. Although, he definitely hadn’t been too impressed with him in regards to the circumstances under which these were revealed. It had only been Klaus’s reflexes that day, that had meant the difference between a shallow slice to his shoulder and a slit throat.

Dave had refused to speak to him for days afterwards, referring to Klaus as _“that fucking reckless idiot,”_ to the guys, much to their amusement, _“Oh, bad luck, Hargreeves. Looks like you won’t be enjoying any of Mama Katz’s famous cookies next care package drop,”._ He’d needed to do some serious grovelling, and they’d had one of their most vicious rows, but he’d ended up with a significant portion of those cookies, and had some truly fantastic make-up sex to boot.

Still, whilst his fucked-up childhood training had become somewhat instinctual, and obviously very useful in a pinch, he was extremely out of practice. Going up against some poorly-trained and desperate Viet Cong soldier waving a blade around, was very different to sparring with his siblings or fighting commission agents, both trained killers of a completely different calibre.

He wonders what his siblings would think if they saw him in the range with an M-14 or -16. Luther would probably think he’d been possessed if he was actually competent at something other than being a _complete fuck-up._

Vanya’s laugh echoes around the room, and he blinks the memories of men’s laughter, crackling fires, and flashing gunfire away, seeing white ceiling above him. The smell of napalm seems to linger in the air. He feels a bit disorientated.

“Oi! Pretty boy! Earth to Klaus! I know you can hear me!”

“Oh, fuck off, Diego! Can’t you see I’m busy dying?” He whines, spreading out his limbs like a starfish, and feeling sweaty and nauseated with the smell of gasoline and smoke that seems burnt inside his nostrils. “Leave me to rest in peace!”

“I told you before you should be treating your body better, it’s all that shit you’ve put it through over the years!”

He glares sulkily at the ceiling, raises one aching limb in the direction of Diego’s voice, and sends a middle finger that way. Diego laughs loudly, shouting “You know I’m right!”

He lets his arm flop back on to the mat, swallowing thickly. There’s the sound of footsteps, and Ben appears in his line of sight, peering down at him with a raised eyebrow. _“Aren’t you going to get up?”_

“Nope.”

_“She didn’t even hit you that hard, stop being a baby.”_

“I think I might be bleeding out,” He says, sending a wide-eyed helpless look up at Ben.

“You are not! stop being so dramatic and get over here!” Allison shouts over, laughing. He can hear Vanya giggling from somewhere close to her.

 _“You are not,”_ Ben scoffs. _“Come on, get up.”_

“No, sorry Benny,” He sighs, closing his eyes. “I’ve got a date with Death, can’t miss it. I’ve decided this is a good enough resting place as any. Au revoir, I’ll see you in just a jiffy.”

There’s a _twoop_ , and a sudden sharp pain as something kicks his right shoulder _hard_. He gasps, eyes flashing open to see Ben’s amused face, Five’s scowling one, and six of Five’s regulars hovering above him. He cringes subtly back into the mat, trying to breathe against the sudden spike of panic, and shivers at the drop-in temperature.

“Klaus, get up.”

“Um no, has all that gunfire made you deaf, old man? I’m sure I told you I’m-” He stops abruptly, squawking loudly, as Five huffs out an annoyed breath and bends down to roughly pull his top up. Five raises an eyebrow at the clear expanse of skin, only starting to redden in few places, and roughly presses a hand to his abdomen. He looks back up at Klaus’s indignant face, and his expression could not be more unimpressed.

“You’re fine,” He says flatly, “Now get up.” As he stands up, he frowns harshly down at Klaus, eyes narrowed. “You’ve lost weight,” He mutters accusingly, voice quiet enough that the others wouldn’t have heard him, and then he’s gone.

“What the hell, Five!” Klaus splutters, as the last flashes of light fade dizzyingly away from his retinas. He curls his hands around his stomach and groans pitifully at the sick feeling Five has brought back with his unwanted prodding. He gives the weight comment the attention it deserves, which is absolutely none. “I’ve told you before, I’m not a free show!”

“What?” Someone asks.

“Don’t ask,” Five grumbles lowly in reply, and shouts “There’s not even any bruising there yet! You’re fine. Stop being such a drama queen!”

“Internal bleeding, Five! You’ve just attacked a dying, unarmed, innocent man. I hope you’re pleased with yourself!”

_“Innocent? I think that ship sailed long ago.”_

Klaus glowers up at Ben, “Why are you never on my team?”

“You’ve not got any internal bleeding, Klaus,” Luther sighs, sounding fed up with him. “Come over here, and join the debrief.”

“Well how would you know, _Number One?_ Do you have X-ray vision now, in addition to super-strength and being a grade A dick?” He says tightly, irritated by the sound of exasperation in his voice. “And what do we need a debrief for? Here, I’ll save you the trouble-”

“Klaus-”

“-Klaus, you’re still failing miserably, do better! Everyone else, well done! Continue the good work. There, debrief done ** _. You’re welcome_**!” He claps his hands together a few times just to add to the performance, and then throws his arms down theatrically against the mat either side of his head, regretting it when the aching comes back ten-fold.

 _“Well someone clearly got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,”_ Ben says, lips twitching.

“That would require actually sleeping in the first place,” He grumbles tiredly, low enough so only Ben can hear. Ben’s smile fades, and his eyes become concerned.

He hears Diego whistle and say, “Woah, Klaus. You’re touchy today, huh?”

_“Again? But you barely slept the night before, you were out walking-”_

“I know.”

“You wouldn’t use plain X-ray’s to look for internal bleeding, dumbass!” Five yells’ from somewhere further away. “You’re fine. Get up!”

_“Is it the ghosts? I’ll stay with you tonight-”_

“You know they’re going to wail like banshees whether you’re there or not-”

_“Yeah, but they’ll give you more space.”_

“You know that’s not what I was going to say, Klaus,” Luther huffs, annoyed. “Although you could definitely use less dramatics and more focus. Everyone can improve, that’s the whole point of these training sessions. Stop taking the constructive criticism so personally.”

“It doesn’t make a huge amount of difference,” He answers Ben. “Just go watch your science shit, I’ll be fine.”

Pogo had asked Klaus a week or so after they’d arrived back from their adventures through time and space, what Ben did on a night whilst everyone was sleeping. Klaus had asked Ben, who’d said that he’d just sit in the armchair and wait for someone to wake up (sad), or walk around the academy on his own (even sadder). When he’d translated this for Pogo – _“He sits and creeps on me sleeping, or he haunts the corridors like a sad little emo ghost,”_ – Pogo asked if Ben still had a keen interest in science, which he does, because let it never be forgotten that Ben is a giant _nerd_. Since then Pogo had made sure to leave a TV on the science channels overnight so Ben could sit and watch them to his heart’s content. It had honestly done wonders for Ben’s mental health, although Klaus now knew far more about the solar system than he’d ever intended to.

He looks up at Ben, feeling uneasy with the way he’s staring down at him with an odd glint in his eye. _“You don’t want me there.”_

“I didn’t say that,” He replies a little too quickly, and winces at his rookie-mistake when he watches the glint flare into full-blown suspicion.

“Are you even listening to me, Klaus?”

_“Is it the drug-?”_

“You know I haven’t used,” He cuts him off coldly. “Besides, you’re always there like a right little stalker whenever I put a foot outside my door, when would I have got them?”

 _“I wasn’t accusing you of using,”_ Ben says calmly, but there’s an irritated tightness to his jaw. _“I was asking if the cravings were difficult?”_

“Klaus, come on man, don’t sulk-”

“They’re always difficult,” He answers grudgingly, feeling irritated at the phantom stings that break out across his forearms without the lovely ecstasy that his body knows should follow. “I don’t sulk!” He shouts back at Diego, and hears him scoff loudly, and the girls laugh.

_“Is it the nightmares then?”_

“That is the biggest lie I think I’ve ever heard-”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry your little ghost heart about it.”

_“You really should talk to one of them-”_

“Look I’m fine, ok? Go and join our loving sibbies, I’ll come over in a mo’ since you rudely won’t let me die in peace. Is this you getting back at me thirteen years later? Because that is so _not cool_ -.”

 _“Klaus,”_ Ben says, unimpressed _. “You can’t keep going on like this. It’s dangerous sneaking out of the academy like you’ve been doing. I told you, I felt like someone was following us last time-”_

“You’re just being a paranoid little ghostie. Learn to chill out, Benjamin.”

 _“No, everyone’s worried about the Commission. It’s just you who -”_ Ben starts to argue, and then huffs when Klaus throws his goodbye palm up towards his face, and waves it annoyingly. _“Really?”_

Klaus smirks up at him, still wiggling his fingers. Ben looks down at him, accurately coming to the conclusion that there’s no reasoning with Klaus when he’s in this mood, and then storms off in the direction of the other voices, muttering under his breath about his brother being an “ _absolute fucking idiot.”_

“Love you too, Benny!” He shouts at Ben’s retreating back, snickering.

“Don’t make me use my knives, Klaus! Stop waving your arms around at poor Ben, and get over here!”

“Ok, ok, Diego. Sheesh. So needy! Clinginess isn’t an attractive trait you know!” He quips, pulling himself into a sitting position on the mat. He grimaces at the sensation of his top slowly peeling away from his sweaty back. “And poor Ben? Whatever do you mean? I’m a delight.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure Ben agrees with you. Either that or the constant exposure has done strange things to his mind.”

“Klaus, come on!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll be over in a just a tick Luther, once I’ve located all my organs and slotted them back where they belong. Untwist your big-boy panties please.”

Luther throws his hands out to the sides, and then calls the others over, obviously deciding to just leave him for dead. He spots Allison walking over to where the group is forming. She looks like she’s barely done anything more strenuous than have a nice afternoon walk in the park.

It’s sickening.

“You need to work on your stamina,” She calls over, smirking, when she sees him looking at her in dismay.

“Nope,” Klaus grins, and winks cheekily. “I’m pretty sure I’m good in that department. Lots of practice, you know?”

Her nose wrinkles, but she laughs, and joins the others in the messy circle they’ve converged in, listening to Luther drone on about _improvements_ and other boring things he doesn’t care about. He’s bound to hear it all from Ben again later anyway, with multiple admonishments thrown in alongside it. He sighs, and runs a hand through his sweaty hair, watching them as he waits for the nausea to settle a bit.

Allison has been doing a lot better over the past few days. She’s been having frequent video calls with Claire in the living room, and each of them had been dragged in front of the camera at some point to be introduced properly to their niece. It had been a shock when Allison had pushed him down on the sofa in front of her laptop, and before he could even open his mouth to tell the grinning little girl on the screen which of her crazy uncles he was, she’d shouted “Uncle Klaus!” and bounced in her seat excitedly.

He’d turned to Allison, stupefied, and asked _“She knows me already?”_

Allison had rolled her eyes, and said _“Of course she does! She literally can’t get enough of the stories about you causing mayhem as kids. One of her favourites is that time when we were seven, and you pranked Diego into thinking that the pigeon he’d accidentally killed in the courtyard was haunting him from beyond the grave.”_

He’d taken a moment to process that, a warm sensation pleasantly glowing away inside his chest, and then he’d turned back to the camera and grinned mischievously at his niece. _“Well then, I have plenty more stories like that to tell. Has your mum ever told you about any of the times I pranked her?”_

Allison had predictably tried to hit him with the cushion, and he’d laughed, and enjoyed the sounds of Claire’s giggling on the video. _“-Or how about we save those for another time when your Mom isn’t here to kill me with a cushion, and I’ll retell you the pigeon story? Your Mom could never get Diego’s scream quite right-”_

It had been amazing, talking to his niece. Klaus was still in awe that he was even an uncle at all. The talk had ended somewhat bittersweetly, when Claire had come right up to the camera, squinting hard at the screen, and when he’d asked what she was doing, she’d replied with _“I’m looking for Uncle Ben, silly!”_

Allison had smiled gently at her daughter, eyes turning sad and wistful, and told her _“Uncle Ben’s here sweetie, but we can’t see him right now. Uncle Klaus has been working really hard, but it’s still very tricky to make him visible. Uncle Ben says hi though.”_

Ben had looked shell-shocked, and then his face had become so heartbreakingly happy that Klaus had needed to look away, a heavy stone in his stomach and a sharp sting in his throat. Claire had just accepted her mother’s words, and had waved at the camera. _“Hi Uncle Ben! I can’t wait to see you. You’re lucky you get to spend so much time with Uncle Klaus, he’s so funny!”_

Ben had laughed, and Klaus had pretended not to hear the choked quality to it. _“No, this misapprehension needs clearing up right away before the poor girl can become any more deluded. Tell her I say you’re an absolute pain to be around, and it’s you who’s lucky to spend so much time with me.”_

Klaus had smiled sweetly at him, violently pushed the overwhelming feelings of guilt and failure to the side for it to avalanche on him later, and then turned back to the camera, saying _“Uncle Ben says he couldn’t agree more.”_

Allison had burst out laughing, and shoved repeatedly at his shoulder until he’d relented and told the truth, all of them giggling in the living room.

He’d left the call with even more desperation to gain some control over his powers. He wants Ben to meet his niece, wants to banish the wistful looks that he sees sometimes on his sibling’s faces when he’s sat chatting away to Ben. He wants to see Dave and tell him how much he loves him, and to have the chance to introduce him to his family. But Ben has remained invisible to all but him, and Dave was still lost in places unknown in the afterlife.

_Talk about ghosting._

He doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong.

He blows out another long breath, and reaches up to clutch at the dog tags. The metal is warm and comforting in his palm. He traces the familiar indentation of ‘David Katz’ with his thumb, feeling a sharp burst of grief in his chest that threatens to overwhelm him.

_Dave, where are you?_

There’s the sound of ceramic sliding across a surface, and he refocuses just in time to see Vanya use her powers to shakily lift the jug of iced water off the bench into the air, and dump the contents on Luther’s protesting head. His family burst into laughter; Ben included who is standing next to Vanya with a proud grin on his face. Diego goes to give her a high-five, and Ben steps quickly back before their hands swipe through his head.

Vanya smiles sheepishly at a dripping-wet and scowling Luther, and says, “Well I did warn you.”

Klaus has to smile as he watches her, dropping the tags so they fall back against his chest. Vanya really has been doing great, not only with developing her powers, but she’s also been growing in confidence as a member of their insane family. She’s still timid and apprehensive at times, but she’s come leaps and bounds from the girl who attended dear Papa’s funeral.

She’s received lots of praise today for how well she’s been progressing with her powers, and Klaus has lost count of the amount of time she’s blushed. She’s been focusing on her fine control, and today she’d managed to utilise the sound of Diego’s knife cutting through the air to redirect its path, hitting dead-centre in the left eye of Reggie’s prized mounted moose head.

It had been pretty freaking cool to watch, although Klaus won’t deny that he’d been half-terrified that this would be the final straw, and Dad would reappear in all of his ghostly glory to make his life even more of a living hell than it already was. Luther had been horrified, but not quick enough to stop Five as he’d joyfully ripped the sodding thing off the wall in the living room and remounted it in the training room to use as target practice for Vanya, and as a giant ‘Fuck you’ to the old bastard. It had already had three knives embedded in it by the time Luther skidded into the training room after him.

Diego had taken inspiration from this, and had also decided to use wall art as target practice. He’d rehung the portrait Dad had commissioned of Five after his disappearance. It hadn’t had quite the effect Diego had obviously intended, namely annoying Five, as Five had jumped over, grinning manically, said he hated the stupid thing, and had enthusiastically joined Diego in throwing knives with scary accuracy at his painted face. 

Klaus wonders if he should be more concerned about that. Ben’s frown certainly suggested he seemed to think there was some hidden meaning behind it, but he was always the soppy poet of them all. It had made for some nice brotherly bonding moments though, so hey-ho. He’d overheard them whispering conspiratorially about hanging up the large stern portrait of Dad up next, if they can manage it before Luther or Pogo find out about their plans and put a stop to it.

“Hey Ben! I want you to look at this, what do you think about the probability maps for causality 560? There’s an element there I’m missing- ”

Klaus blinks, and sees they’ve all moved on again. He watches as Ben looks over at Five, and follows him over to the far wall of the training room that he’s commandeered to use as a thinking board whenever he’s forced to participate in family training sessions. The wall is an absolute mess of numbers, symbols, and complicated looking equations that Five has scrawled all over the peeling blue paint with different coloured sharpies.

When Pogo had come in one day to tell them that the lunch Grace had prepared for them was ready, he’d nearly had a heart attack at the state of it. He’d reprimanded Five for vandalising the property unnecessarily, and of course Five had been utterly unremorseful. Pogo had even ordered Five some A3 books to write in, but they remained untouched on the floor by the wall. God only knows how poor Pogo would react once he discovered the mutilated moose head, or the ruined portrait.

Five’s currently talking to Ben, gesturing at the symbols feverishly with an excited glint in his eyes. Ben’s nodding along, a slight furrow in his brow as he tries to keep up with Five’s thinking – as if anyone can.

Five had started doing this ever since the theatre, since the family had realised Klaus wasn’t lying, and yes, Ben was hanging around from beyond the grave. He’ll request Ben’s attention, ask for Ben’s opinion on something he’s working on, or point something out in whatever book he’s reading that he thinks Ben would find interesting. Sometimes he’ll ask for Klaus to translate Ben’s answers, but more often than not Five seems perfectly content to ramble on to Ben, and seems to have one-sided conversations down to an art form.

It’s freaky sometimes, how Five can seem to predict Ben’s feelings on a subject without Klaus having to open his mouth. Klaus wonders sometimes whether it’s to do with Five’s ability to rip holes in dimensional planes, maybe the line between the planes of the living and the dead is more translucent for him too? But thinking about this makes his head hurt, and he doesn’t understand physics one bit. Maybe it’s just because he and Ben had always been close? Either way it works.

He can’t help thinking as he watches Ben smile tenderly at Five’s manic gesturing, that it would’ve worked out better if it had been Klaus who’d died at seventeen, and Ben who was sat here now. Ben had hated The Horror, yes, but he’d always wanted to live. Klaus has always been halfway stuck in the grave, and he doesn’t think he truly knows what living actually feels like. But then again, he wouldn’t have met Dave then, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.

“Hey Klaus!” He hears, and he drags his eyes around to look at Diego, who is slouching against the wall and lazily twirling a knife on the tip of his finger. “You finished dying yet or what? Debriefs over, so you’re safe. We’re deciding on a film for movie night. You don’t want to end up watching some cheesy chick-flick again, do you?”

Luther scowls darkly at Diego, and stomps over to the bench against the other wall, snatching up his towel. “It wasn’t that bad! I only said it because it was already on the TV, and no one ever seems to be able to agree on something to watch.”

Diego gives Luther an unimpressed look, and then turns to Klaus mouthing the words “Dirty Liar.”

Luther catches him in the act, and throws a water bottle in his direction. Diego ducks, laughing. “Come off it, Luther, you’re fooling no one! You were completely hooked from start to finish. I did think brunettes were more your type though.”

Luther huffs, and grumbles into the towel as he dabs at his face.

Klaus rolls his eyes, and cautiously pushes himself up from the mat, wincing as some of the muscles he previously didn’t know existed ache in protest. He holds still for a moment as the world tries to tilt sharply on its axis, black dots appearing across his vision.

“Who’s turn is it?” He asks, when the dots start to fade away. “Whoever it is, please remember to make sure it’s PG rated! I don’t want to have to be the one to explain the bird’s and the bee’s to-”

Klaus ducks, grinning despite the black spots coming back with a vengeance, as a green sharpie goes sailing over his head. He moves to stand up, and then suddenly Five’s there, grabbing hold of his upper arm and pointing a black sharpie threateningly in front of his face.

“I swear to God, _**Klaus**_ -”

“Hey! Please don’t!” He moans, stepping back out of Five’s grasp. “She really wouldn’t appreciate it, and she doesn’t like me all that much as it is! At this rate, you’ll all be having a wild time at Hogwarts in the sky when you kick the bucket, and I’ll be stuck struggling to make cents as a rent boy in the back room of Dad’s little creepy barber shop!”

“Wait, what?” Luther asks, face twisting in confusion. “No one else understands that reference, right? Tell me I’m not the only one who doesn’t understand that reference.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Diego asks, grinning, but then his expression fades to concern. “Hey, wait, you’re not high, are you?”

He hears Luther mutter, “It would make sense, the way he’s acting like a petulant child today-” But before he can do more than scowl back at him, Five snatches hold of his nose, and drags him painfully down towards him, peering at Klaus’s pupils suspiciously.

Klaus pouts, puts his GOODBYE palm across Five’s face in what is likely to be his final act of stupidity in the living world, and pushes his brother away.

“Man, I wish I was,” He groans, rubbing at his nose.

Ben scowls darkly at him, and crosses his arms. Klaus makes a face at him.

“No, he’s not high,” Five says, glaring. “His pupils are normal, and his speech is fine, even if the content is bizarre, but this is Klaus were talking about. His hand-eye coordination seems average, but we could always make doubly sure on that front?”

Five throws a knife in the air, waits for it to twirl its way back down, and then catches the handle at the last millisecond, not once needing to look away from glaring at Klaus.

Fucking scary murder child.

“Why would you have to earn any money in the afterlife anyway, surely you don’t need currency when you’re dead? That seems a little mean of God,” Vanya says, then shrugs at the incredulous look Diego sends her.

“That’s what you took from that whole- whatever the fuck that was?”

“Spiel. I think that’s the word you’re looking for, Diego.”

“No, Allison, I’m pretty sure I meant _whatever the fuck that was_. Spiel doesn’t really cover it.”

“Why would Dad have a barber shop in the afterlife?” Luther asks, bewildered.

“I don’t know,” Diego says, shrugging. “I agree with what Klaus said the first-time round. He’s probably living it up with Hitler and his buddies, or sat writing out his disappointment speeches so they’re perfected for when we all kick it.”

“Well, he did always plan for every eventuality,” Five says, tilting his head in agreement. “Although he probably wrote yours first, Diego. Disappointment isn’t just a probability in your case.”

“Oh? And what about you Five? Do you not think he would have started on yours first given that stunt you pulled at the table all those years ago? Ignoring Dad, and getting stuck in the future?”

Five scowls. “I couldn’t give a damn what the old man thinks. But I’m pretty sure he would still agree figuring out the complexities of time travel and coming back to prevent the apocalypse, trumps running around the city in cheap spandex after petty criminals.”

“It’s leather, you-”

“Hey, hey, you’re both wrong!” Klaus cuts in cheerfully, before either of them resort to violence. “He actually wrote mine first, told me I’m his greatest disappointment. A badge I’ll wear with pride.”

Allison frowns at him. “And when could he have told you that?”

“Well, when he conjured him,” Luther answers.

“Excuse me?” Allison says tensely. “When he _what now_?”

“Oh, did we not tell you?” Five says, frowning.

“No! You didn’t,” Diego growls. “What the fuck?”

“You conjured Dad?!”

“Were you with him when he did this?”

“No, he just told us about it at breakfast one day. We didn’t believe him at first, Pogo-”

“Guys! Guys! I feel we’ve got off track.” Klaus says, waving his palms out in front of him with a tight grin on his face.

“I think we’ve only just got on track,” Allison says, glaring at him. “When were you going to tell us about this?”

“I thought you knew!” He says, shrugging nonchalantly. He ignores Ben’s scoff in the background.

_“Yes, when you **conjured him**. Are you ever going to actually tell them the truth?”_

“Well what did he say?” Vanya asks, looking apprehensive.

“Oh, this and that,” He says, waving his hand dismissively. “You’ve only scratched the surface of what your capable of, you’re my greatest disappointment Number Four, you’re poisoning yourself, I killed myself to bring you all together to save the world, yada yada, yada.”

“Wait, you said it was Pogo who told you guys that,” Diego turns accusingly to Five, who rolls his eyes.

“No, I said Pogo confirmed it-”

“Well, what else did he say?” Diego turns to Klaus, cutting Five off who sends him a nasty look.

“Nothing! Just what I’ve told you! Honestly, it’s nothing to get so wound up about.”

“Is he here now?” Vanya asks, voice small.

The look of alarm that spreads across all of their faces is hilarious, and Klaus laughs loudly. “Fuck no! And thank heavens for that, or I’d have volunteered myself to be used as target practice!”

“That’s not funny,” Diego snaps.

Five narrows his eyes at him. “I agree.”

“Look, look,” He says quickly, feeling like the situation is wildly getting out of control. “It was just one conversation, ok? Barely even that, and he’s not here now. He’s fucked off to the afterlife for forever more. Poof! Gone. Bye Bye! Can we move on now?

“You’ve just told us you conjured our dead Father, and you expect us to move on?” Allison says incredulously.

“Yes! What more is there to say? It’s not like he spilled any grand secrets other than the fact he killed himself.”

“I can’t believe you never said anything!” Diego growls at him. “No, you know what, actually I can. You’re always talking, but somehow you never seem to say a fucking thing. What other secrets are you hiding from us?”

“For fuck’s sake Diego, this wasn’t even a secret in the first place!” He says, and he hates how his voice has gone all high and irritating. “I thought you knew!”

“So, there isn’t anything else you think we should know?” Five asks, eyes boring into his intensely.

“No!” He protests immediately, ignoring the surge of guilt at the lie. He hates lying, but Jesus wept, this is not the right time to bring up the ghosties, the drug cravings, Dave, or the fucking Vietnam war. Diego would probably burst an aneurysm.

Ben hisses in frustration, and storms right over to him, punching him through the shoulder. It takes everything Klaus has not to shiver unpleasantly at the sensation and step away, instead continuing to hold Five’s penetrating gaze.

 _“Are you fucking kidding me, Klaus!”_

Five stares at him for a few moments longer, seemingly unsatisfied with whatever he finds given the way his lips press together unhappily, but there’s not much he can do unless he’s somehow developed mind-reading as an extra ability. “Fine,” he snaps, crossing his arms.

There’s an awkward silence that follows, and Klaus shifts uncomfortably. He sends a quick glare at Ben, who is stood beside him seething.

“I can’t believe you banished Dad,” Vanya says eventually, an awed smile on her face.

It acts as an immediate tension reliever; Five’s shoulders relax, Diego snorts, Allison grins, and even Luther smiles a bit. Ben’s stills scowling, but Klaus ignores him.

“God, he’ll be waiting right at the gates for you when it’s time,” Diego laughs.

“Um, won’t everyone be waiting at the gates, gasping at the chance to see a bit of this?”

“Dream on,” Allison laughs.

“That’s hurtful, Allison, truly. My soul bleeds.”

“Hey, why’d you say _she_ anyway when referring to God? Isn’t God usually referred to as a man?”

“Well, why couldn’t God be a she?”

“Touché.”

“So, guys, the movie?” Vanya says, collecting her stuff from the bench.

“Ah, yes! I was going to say before we got side-tracked, that we need to pick a child-friendly one-” He sees Five’s hand turn white from how hard he’s clenching the knife in his fist. “-Unless someone else is willing to take one for the team and explain how babies are made to Luther, he looked confused after he tried it the first time.”

Diego laughs loudly, face lit up as if Christmas has come early. Vanya’s laughing, and even Five is grinning widely. Poor Luther turns bright red, and he twists the towel in his hands, looking like he wishes it was Klaus’s neck. Klaus feels a flash of vindictive pleasure at the sight. God, Ben’s right, he’s definitely feeling the sleep deprivation today. He spots Allison blushing out the corner of his eye.

“Oh no, I think we’re good. Allison seems to have it all in hand – literally.”

**“Klaus!”**

The last of the tension that was left seems to fade away, and the room erupts into laughter.

“I can’t breathe,” Diego wheezes. “Someone, help me.”

“You’re beyond help.” Allison snaps at him, red in the face and looking frazzled.

“Okay, okay Allison, I admit that was mean,” Klaus sniggers, trying to hold in the bubble of laughter in his chest at the sight of Luther’s gaping face. “Everyone, everyone, we have to be nice to Ally. It can be your turn to pick the movie, Sis. Go nuts.”

“Well, actually, I did have something in mind,” She says, blush fading, and glancing in Luther’s direction. “Unless anyone else was desperate for a turn?”

“Uh,” Diego says, raising a hand. “I’d like to veto The Rocky Horror Picture Show now if possible-”

Klaus grins as Allison stomps over and stamps hard on Diego’s foot, making him jump away shouting “What the fuck, Allison! It was an honest question!”

He sees Ben shaking his head watching them all, but he’s a dirty hypocrite because Klaus saw him with his back turned earlier, shoulders shaking suspiciously.

“Be in the living room for 8pm. Diego, you’re on snacks.” Allison says stonily, as she walks away.

“What? You’re not even going to tell us which movie?” Diego calls after her. “How am I meant to coordinate snacks properly if you don’t tell me the genre? Is it sad? Is it happy? Do I need to buy Ben and Jerry’s ice cream by the bucket-load?” Diego spots the raised eyebrow Five mockingly sends his way. “Screw you, I’ve had girlfriends, I know these things.”

Allison stops, and turns around with a twisted little smirk on her face. “It’ll be a surprise,” She says, and then walks out of the training room, Vanya and Luther following closely behind her. Luther looks like he might have permanently changed colour.

Klaus grimaces, Allison is definitely picking ‘The Conjuring’ or some other paranormal shit to mess with him. Plus, Diego is a giant baby about horror films, even if he’ll deny it until his last dying breath. Little does Allison know that the spirits Klaus sees makes the movie versions of ghosts look positively angelic.

He's aware of his family’s misapprehension that the ghosties look like regular people, and some of them do, but there doesn’t tend to be many ghosts hanging around after a quick heart attack, or drifting away peacefully in their sleep. Unfortunately, it tends to be the ones who were brutally murdered, unable to accept their death, trapped in a cycle of guilt and regret, or have unfinished business that seem to get stuck outside those pearly gates and come to make his life a living hell.

He doesn’t want to think about what that says about Ben. Was it just because Klaus conjured him?

“Hey,” Diego says, punching him in the arm once Five has flashed away. “Fancy a drive out? I know we’re meant to be playing it safe, but who would we be if we didn’t take our snack duties seriously? Plus, it seems like you could do with a breather.”

Klaus snorts, “Your snack duty,” he corrects.

Diego rolls his eyes. “Remember that two-person rule? If you want better snacks than whatever healthy garbage Allison has stocked the fridge up with, then you better come with,” He says, “Mum’s got the day off today.”

 _“Yes Klaus,”_ Ben says snarkily from where he’s laying across the bench. _“Remember that two-person rule you all agreed to. The one you’ve broken no less than four times this week.”_

“Shut up Ben,” He scowls. “No one asked for your opinion.”

Ben mutters something under his breath.

Klaus sends him a withering look. “Whatever, continue with your bitching. We both know you’ll still be my good little ghost scout regardless.”

“Ghost scout?” Diego asks, amused. Ben lifts two fingers up rudely at Klaus. “Where and why is Ben ghost scouting?”

“Now that would be telling, mi Hermano,” He bops his finger against Diego’s nose, “But If you feel like you’re not alone you when you’re practicing those superhero stances in the mirror, someone’s definitely laughing at you.”

He makes to skip away towards the doors, but Diego grabs his by the arm firmly. The amusement has fallen from his face, and has left way for worry. 

“Klaus, you’ve not been sneaking out of the academy, have you?”

“No.”

 _“Yes.”_

They stare at each other. Klaus makes sure his face remains light and relaxed, the face he’d give the rehab workers when they’d asked Klaus if he knew who was smuggling in the drugs. He uses his hand hanging down by his side to send a middle finger Ben’s way.

“You are aware that doing so would be _really fucking stupid_ , aren’t you?”

“Mm.”

Diego’s face hardens, and he glares at Klaus in silence. Klaus just looks back at him, face carefully composed to appear care-free.

“You better not be lying to me Klaus.” He sighs, but lets go of his arm. “Come on, we’re going, you too Ben!”

“Do I not get to go in the bath first?”

“As long as you don’t take five years, yes,” Diego sighs. “Meet me in the foyer in an hour.”

Ben jumps off the bench to walk with him out of the room, face heavy with judgement.

“Don’t be such a prick,” Klaus hisses at him quietly, so Diego can’t hear from where he’s collecting his knives from Five’s portrait and putting them back on his person.

 _“I would never,”_ Ben deadpans. _“My stupid brother already has that job.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone! Hope everyone who celebrates had a great Christmas! I was super lucky to have Christmas Day off, and I've also managed to get some time off work (woo!), so the wait for the next chapter won't be as long! I wasn't very happy with this chapter, and I still don't feel it's quite right, but it's posted, it's done. Lets just say things start to kick off a bit in the next chapter ;) This is a bit of a filler chapter, to set the scene a bit. Poor Klaus. 
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! :)


	4. Chapter Four

“I come bearing gifts!”

“You mean, _we_ , come bearing gifts,” Diego grunts, arms laden with various treats, as he carefully navigates the living room floor to reach the coffee table.

Klaus makes no move to help him, flinging himself down on what has become _his seat_ on the couch, and nearly spilling the popcorn from the one bowl in his hands. The room feels a bit cosier now compared to how it did before Dad gave-up-the-ghost. They’ve replaced the back-breaking settees with two more comfortable couches, and bought a pair of armchairs to match. They also have a TV stand with a large TV atop of it, and a nice oak coffee table that’s already covered in coffee stains, because no one but Allison remembers to use the coasters.

“Did you buy the whole damn store?” Five asks, eyebrows raised. He’s claimed one of the armchairs instead of his usual perch on top of the bar.

“Close enough from the looks of it,” Allison answers, voice dripping with disapproval as she eyes the spoils. “Did you buy anything containing less fat than the size of the moon?”

“Too soon to be mentioning the moon in front of Luther,” Klaus protests, stuffing his mouth full of popcorn and enjoying the looks of disgust he receives. “He watched his baby die.”

“Klaus!”

“Wha’?” He asks around a mouthful, looking up from where he was digging around the bowl for the most buttered pieces. Five is glaring at him, nothing new there, but Allison is tilting her head violently towards Vanya who’s fiddling with a loose thread on the throw, eyes downcast. “Oh.”

Ben rolls his eyes, and looks up at the ceiling as if praying for guidance. Klaus throws a piece of popcorn through his head.

“The moon is not my baby, Klaus,” Luther sighs, forehead furrowed in concentration as he crouches in front of the DVD player and alters the settings. He struggles with the small buttons with his fingers being so large, but the last time someone had asked if he’d needed any help, he’d just about had a meltdown. None of them had dared offer since, resigned to painfully suffering along with him as he struggles to manage on his own.

“Yeah, ok, big guy,” Diego scoffs, picking up a bottle of beer from the table, and sitting on the couch next to Klaus.

Luther shoots him a dirty look over his shoulder, and then turns back to the DVD player. “I am not obsessed with the moon. Look, if you had lived on there for four years-”

“God, Luther, shut up about the moon already! You’re bringing it up _again_!” Klaus whines, grinning, and twists his body to throw his feet onto Diego’s lap, making him yelp and scowl. He doesn’t push them off though, just rests his beer bottle on Klaus’s ankle, and grumbles under his breath about _cold fucking feet_.

“What are we watching anyway?” Vanya asks, leaning forward to pick up a drink from the table.

“I thought we’d watch something different for a change,” Allison says, voice oddly apprehensive. She’s stood next to Luther, and she puts a gentle hand on his shoulder when he curses under his breath as the screen goes black. “I ran it by Luther who thought it was a good idea-”

“Oh god, we’re watching the moon landing, aren’t we?”

Five grabs the nearest cushion, and flings it at his face. Sucks to be him though, as Klaus just picks it up and plops it under his back with a wink. “Thanks, Five, that’s way more comfortable.”

“No, we’re not watching the moon landing Klaus,” Allison sighs, exasperated. “I thought we could watch some home movies.”

A silence follows her announcement, everyone but Allison and Luther frown in confusion.

“But we don’t have any home movies,” Five points out. “The old man wasn’t exactly the sentimental type.”

“Well, he might have been more sentimental than we thought,” Allison says, ignoring the cacophony of disbelieving scoffs and laughs this receives. “He never got rid of the footage.”

“Footage?” Vanya asks. “You mean the surveillance feeds? But there must be years’ worth!”

“There is. Dad had a whole room full of DVDs. Pogo went through them and condensed them down to a cabinet full. He used to watch them when he missed us.”

No one seems to know quite what to say to that. Klaus looks down at the popcorn guiltily, thinking about Pogo all alone watching tapes in the dark for company.

“So, you’ve what? Went through a few tapes and picked out the highlights?” Diego’s mouth twists. “How Reginald Hargreeves fucked his kids up, exhibit A?”

“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea,” Allison hesitates, fiddling with the plastic DVD case in her hands. “Claire was asking if there were any videos of me as a child, since she watched some of Patrick’s round her grandparents last week-”

“You were going to show that messed up shit _to Claire_?” Diego asks incredulously.

“Of course not!” Allison snaps, glaring at him. “None of the bad stuff anyway. Just some of the moments in between. Then I thought it might be a nice idea if we looked through some of the tapes together, picked some out to show her.”

“Well I think it’s a great idea,” Vanya smiles. “It’ll be nice to see things from a different perspective.”

Diego scowls, and points his beer bottle at her. “None of this shit goes in a book, Vee.”

Vanya seems to visibly shrink, biting her lip and looking guilty. Klaus takes one look at her, and kicks Diego in the stomach with his foot, making him gasp and curl in on himself. He shoves Klaus’s feet off him, and groans loudly. “What the hell, man!”

Klaus gives him a cheery grin, shrugging as he pulls himself more upright on the sofa, and then winks at Vanya. It brings a small smile on her face at least.

“Children. I live with a bunch of idiotic children,” Five sighs, and takes a long sip of his whisky.

Klaus feels that’s rich, considering he’s the only one sat there in striped umbrella academy pyjamas. They’d all had identical pyjama sets as kids, and Klaus had gleefully burned all of his at the age of thirteen when he’d purposely started a bonfire in the courtyard. Dad, unsurprisingly, hadn’t provided him with anymore.

“Are we putting on the DVD or not?” Allison demands, hands on her hips in front of the TV. Luther grunts in satisfaction when a paused image of their bedroom corridor appears on the screen.

“I’d like to watch it,” Vanya says quietly.

“Me too,” Luther nods, squeezing Allison’s hand once and then passing her the remote. He gets up from his crouch and walks to the other armchair, sitting down.

“Fine,” Diego mutters sourly, taking a sip of his beer.

Klaus looks in question at Ben who is sat atop the bar, swinging his legs and watching them all with an amused expression. He nods at Klaus.

“Ben’s in. I’m game as long as Luther isn’t going to get brainwashed through a pixelated version of dear old Reggie,” He quips. He turns to Luther and squints at him. “Wir haben unsere Augen auf dich gerichtet.” _We have our eyes on you._

“Well that’s not creepy at all,” Five says. “I’m in.”

“Wait, what did he say?” Luther asks, and gets ignored by Five as he flashes over to the bar and starts picking out bottles.

Klaus sets the bowl of popcorn down on the table, and looks pleadingly at Five. “Hey, Bruder! Bring etwas Wodka mit!" _Hey, Brother! Bring me some vodka!_

“Nein.” _No_

"Hey Mann, das ist nicht fair! Wenn du dafür betrunken wirst, sollte ich es auch!" _Hey man, that’s not fair! If you get to be drunk for this, so should I!_

Five considers this for a moment, then picks out a bottle of vodka.

“Does anyone have a clue what they’re saying?”

“Something about alcohol?” Allison replies, watching the exchange warily.

“Shit,” Diego sighs, rubbing his temple.

“Idioten,” _Idiots_ Five mutters, before jumping back over and passing the vodka bottle to Klaus. He doesn’t bother to ask if he wants a glass or any mixer. Klaus beams at him.

“Um no,” Diego objects, reaching for vodka. Klaus hugs it protectively against his chest and hisses at his hand, feeling very much like he’s channelling the spirit of Gollum from Lord of the Rings.

“Five, why’d you give him Vodka? You know how hard he’s been trying to stay sober.”

“It’s not like I’ve handed him crack cocaine, Diego,” Five rolls his eyes, settling back on the chair with his bounty. “It’s vodka.”

“Just because you don’t care about being an alcoholic, doesn’t mean you can enable others,” Diego snaps. “Klaus, hand me the bottle.”

 _“Klaus,”_ Ben sighs. _“Hand him the vodka.”_

“I’m not an alcoholic,” Five and Klaus say at once, both clutching strong spirits in their hands and glaring at Diego.

“The first step of recovering from addiction, is admitting you have a problem,” Luther announces to the room unhelpfully. Everyone turns to stare at him in disbelief, and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “What? I read about it online when I was researching, you know, in case Klaus needed help with the whole drugs thing.”

“I was going to make an amazing joke about you sounding like a rehab group therapist, but I won’t now. I’m oddly touched.”

“Probably a good thing,” Diego sasses, snatching the vodka out of his hands whilst he’s distracted, ignoring his “Hey, that’s mine!”, and putting it on the floor by his end of the couch. “It wouldn’t have been very funny anyway.”

Klaus turns wide pitiful eyes on Five. “Five, be an angel darling, and get me another one?”

“No,” He says unsympathetically. “You had your chance, and you blew it,” Five then narrows his eyes at Diego, who’s squinting at the whisky bottle in Five’s hands with a considering look on his face. “Try anything like that with me Diego, and you’ll wish for death by the time I’m finished with you.”

“And on that cheery note,” Allison says, raising her voice. “Let’s start the movie.”

They all settle more comfortably as Allison turns the lights off, and sits down beside Vanya. Klaus feels very disgruntled when Diego puts a coke can in his hands with a smirk.

“Ghost scout,” He mouths at Diego, smiling sweetly, and feeling a great amount of satisfaction at the worried look that comes upon Diego’s face. He tries to ignore the way his body immediately tenses at the darkness, an undercurrent of fear prickling under his skin.

“Aw! Look how small we were!” Allison gasps. “Vanya, you were adorable! And look at you, Five!”

_On the screen, a six-year old Five and Vanya come into view. They’re walking down the corridor, and little Five is predictably scowling._

_“No Number Seven, he’s wrong. The numbers are never wrong.”_

_“But Five-” Vanya starts to say, her little face scrunched up in a frown._

_“He’s stupid. He’s a stupid liar, and he’s lying.”_

_“But why would he lie?” Vanya pouts._

_Five rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, stops, and grasps Vanya by the shoulders. He looks at her as critically as a six-year-old can._

_“Because he wants to be best, but he’s Number Two. Dad won’t change his mind.”_

_Vanya’s eyes become shiny then, and she sniffs loudly, pulling out of Five’s grasp. She turns her head and stares at the wall, her lower lip trembling._

_“Seven?” Five asks, looking confused. “Why are you crying? Are you hurt? Should I get your nanny?”_

_“No,” Vanya says, upset. “Am I bad then?”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“Because I’m Number Seven!” She cries. “So, Dad must not love me as much as Number One, or you, or any of the others.”_

_Five’s face goes through a series of expressions before he settles on scowling again. He stamps his foot, and grabs hold of Vanya’s head, roughly pulling it round to face him._

_“You care about that?” He demands._

_“Yes, don’t you?” Vanya shouts, voice coming out strange from the way her cheeks are squished in Five’s hands._

_“No,” Five scowls harder, glaring at her. “But if it matters, I would have named you Number One.”_

_Vanya stops crying, and looks at Five in surprise. “Really?”_

_“Yes,” Five nods, dropping his hands from Vanya’s face once he’s sure she’s stopped crying._

_“Oh,” She says, a beaming smile overtaking her face. “Well you’d be my Number One too. Oh, and Number Six would be a One as well!”_

_“Ridiculous,” Five snaps. “We both can’t be the same number!”_

_“Can so,” Vanya scowls. “You don’t make the rules!”_

_“It’s maths, Seven!”_

_“I don’t care,” She says smiling, and then disappears from the screen as she runs off down the corridor with Five running after her. “Six! Number Six! You and Five are my Number One’s!”_

Vanya turns to Five, and grins at him. Five rolls his eyes, but smiles back at her, looking the softest Klaus has ever seen him. He mouths the words “Still ridiculous,” at her smug expression, making her pull a face at him. Diego grumbles under his breath and shoots Five a dirty look, and Five laughs aloud and relaxes further back in his chair.

Klaus glances at Ben, but he’s watching the screen with a soft, nostalgic expression on his face. A pang goes through his chest at the sight so he quickly turns his attention back to the video again.

 _The scene changes, and a twelve-year-old Klaus comes into view. He’s wearing one of Allison’s academy skirts, and he’s grinning as he’s stumbles down the corridor in a pair of Mom’s black heels. He has a pearl necklace hanging around his neck, and a smudge of red lipstick on his lips_ – sue him, he wasn’t as skilled then, he was twelve _– and his cheeks have big splotches of blusher on them._

Klaus groans, and sends a hopeless pleading look at Allison. “Allison,” He whines. “Why?”

Allison smirks back at him, content in her revenge. “But look how cute you were! Look at the lipstick!”

“It’s weird seeing you without your tattoos,” Diego laughs.

“That isn’t why you chose this video, and you know it,” He accuses Allison.

Allison grins, and shrugs. “No, but it doesn’t have the bit with you falling, I promise. It’s just funny looking at your attempts at dressing up back then. Your make-up skills put me to shame now!”

“You’re a dangerous woman,” He tells her, putting the soda down, and picking the popcorn back up. He doesn’t mention that they’re watching his final moments of ignorance on the screen. That the young boy they’re looking at is just about to be introduced to the wonderful world of drugs, realise their unintended side effects, and start down a dark path.

_Younger Klaus is still struggling down the corridor, but he’s obviously feeling like a movie-star from the big grin on his face. He’s flinching now and then, but otherwise continues on his merry way. A twelve-year-old Luther turns the corner, bickering with Diego, and comes to a sudden halt. He stares at Klaus, looking him up and down as if he’s never seen him before._

_“Four? What are you doing?”_

_Klaus looks up from where he’s carefully watching his feet on the floor. He grins at the two boys, and throws his arms out widely at his sides._

_“One! Two! Don’t I look amazing! Man, walking in heels is hard! Mom makes it look so easy!” He takes another few steps towards them, nearly falling when his ankle twists suddenly and he has to grab on to the wall. “See?” He giggles._

_“You took them from Dad’s room?” Luther scowls in disapproval._ Mom didn’t have a room before Dad died, and her things were stored in a cabinet in his room. _“You’re not allowed in there, Four.”_

_Klaus rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, smirking at Luther. “It’s not like Dad’s using them,” He says, and then breaks into giggles. “God, can you imagine!”_

_Diego’s lips twitch, and then he’s full out grinning. “I don’t really want to.”_

_“Dad wouldn’t wear that stuff,” Luther says, nose wrinkling._

_“Nah,” Klaus agrees. “He doesn’t have the fashion sense. Plus, he’d never be able to pull it off. He doesn’t have the legs for it, or the face, or anything really.”_

_Diego snorts, grinning._

_“Four, just take the stuff off,” Luther demands, unimpressed. “You look ridiculous. Why’d you want to wear girls’ stuff anyway?”_

_“Hey! I can wear a skirt and lipstick just as well as a girl can!” Klaus protests. “They’re not only for girls! Plus, boys’ clothes are soooo boring!”_

_“Take it off Four, and the heels before you break your neck.”_

_“No,” Klaus scowls. “I’m not wearing my stupid uniform; I look amazing right now. You’ve just got your head stuck so far up Dad’s backside you can’t see anything else.”_

_Diego laughs loudly, and says “Well, you’re not wrong.”_

_Luther growls at the both of them, and storms off down the corridor towards Allison’s room. He shoves into Klaus’s shoulder purposely on the way past, and younger Klaus stumbles and nearly loses his balance._

_“Hey! Watch it!” He shouts at the retreating figure, before turning back to Diego with a grin. “Well, what do you think?”_

_“You look great, Four. Although your lipstick could do with some work.”_

_“I know,” Klaus moans sadly. “I couldn’t wipe the smudged bits off, so I tried to fix it, and I just made it worse. But no matter, practice makes perfect.”_

_“I’d make sure you’re back in **your** uniform before Dad gets back, I don’t think he’d approve.”_

_“Pfft,” Klaus says, continuing past Diego down the corridor, and heading towards the stairs. “I don’t give a damn if he disapproves. I’m not scared of him.”_

_“Hm,” Diego hums, unconvinced. “Where are you going?”_

_“To steal some of Five’s chocolate. I found where Pogo hide’s it downstairs. Wanna come?”_

_“Man, are you trying to make Dad as pissed off as possible? No thanks, I think I’ll actually enjoy the free time, and not end up with a punishment hanging over my head at the end of it. You should to.”_

_“Suit yourself,” Klaus shrugs, turning around the corner. “But don’t be asking me to share the goods!”_

Diego smirks at the video, and turns to Klaus. “And then wonder boy trips, falls down the stairs, breaks his jaw, gets it wired shut, and then what, Klaus?”

Klaus glares back at Diego sullenly, but dutifully replies, “Eight glorious weeks of bliss for you, and some absolutely lovely painkillers for me.”

Diego laughs, but then there’s a sudden change, and he turns back to Klaus with a look of dawning comprehension. “Wait, you mean-” But he’s cut off when the next video starts to play, and Luther shushes them both. Diego scowls at him, snatches up a handful of popcorn from the bowl, and throws it at Luther’s nose.

_“So, what name did you get?” A thirteen-year-old Luther asks Allison. They’re stood in the foyer, and Luther looks uncharacteristically nervous._

_“Allison,” She smiles shyly, whilst twirling a lock of black hair around her finger. “Mom gave me a few options, but I thought that one sounded pretty. What do you think? Do I look like an Allison?”_

_“You are very pretty,” Luther says, then goes red and clears his throat._

_Allison beams at him, and gives him a quick hug before stepping back. “Thanks! So, what name did you choose?”_

_“Oh, I just told Mom to pick one. I’m Luther.”_

_“Luther,” She says consideringly, then smiles. “It suits you!”_

_“Thanks,” Luther grins, shoulders relaxing. He goes to speak, but then there’s the sound of laughter coming closer, and Klaus, Ben, and Five come into view. Five is scowling, Klaus is laughing, and Ben is smiling in the middle of the two._

_“Hi guys!” Klaus greets them brightly, waving. “How were your naming ceremonies? My name’s Klaus by the way, and this here is Benjamin-”_

_“It’s Ben, just Ben,” Ben corrects, rolling his eyes, and shoving at Klaus’s shoulder playfully._

_“- and the scowling kill-joy at the end there is still Five-”_

_“What?” Allison interrupts. “You didn’t get a name, Five?”_

_“I have a name,” Five snaps, glaring at Klaus. “I like my name. Why should I have to choose another one?”_

_“Well it’s just a little weird to be called by a number, you know? It’s not a real name,” Klaus taunts, skipping over to where Allison is to admire her illicit pink glitter nail polish._

_“Five is my name. My real name,” Five says, frowning. “I considered the other options but they didn’t feel right. My name is Five.”_

_Klaus rolls his eyes, and sends a quick mocking smirk over his shoulder. “You just have an unhealthy fetish for numbers, that’s the real issue here. It’s a problem. You need help buddy.”_

_Klaus turns his back on Five, ignoring the angry spitting tirade directed his way. Ben grasps Five’s upper arm, likely stopping him from teleporting over and inflicting violence. “Just ignore him, he’s trying to wind you up and you’re falling for it,” Ben can be heard murmuring quietly, whilst Five glares darkly at the back of Klaus’s head._

_Klaus squeezes himself between Luther and Allison, forcing Luther to take a step back out of the way, grumbling something about “childishness” and “manners” that clearly falls on deaf ears. Klaus puts his hands on Allison’s shoulders, takes a dramatic deep breath, and then looks at her very intently._

_“Please tell me you chose a good name? Not a boring one like Benjamin.”_

_“It’s Ben! How is that hard, Klaus? It’s actually less syllables to remember!”_

_“Allison,” She answers, grinning._

_“Oh, Ally! That’s a great name! It’ll look amazing up on those billboards, Up-top!” Klaus takes his hands off her shoulders, and raises one for a high-five, which she gives, laughing. He looks over his shoulder at Luther next, and sighs resignedly. “I don’t have such high hopes for you, but go on, what name did you choose?”_

_Luther scowls at him. “She said Allison.”_

_“Yeah, I know. Ally, that’s what I said. But what’s yours?”_

_“Luther,” Luther snaps, irritated. “I let Mom choose it.”_

_“Of course you did,” Klaus says dryly. “Why am I not surprised?”_

_“What’s that supposed to mean?”_

_“Number Seven!” Five interrupts loudly, facing the stairs where Vanya is walking down, Diego trailing behind her._

_Vanya smiles at him, but seems to shrink a little when everyone’s eyes settle on her. She walks over to Five’s side. “Hi, Five.”_

_“What are we, chopped liver?” Klaus says, snorting._

_Vanya blushes, but smiles timidly at Klaus. “Hi Four-”_

_“It’s Klaus now, actually,” He corrects, and bounds over to her. “What’s your name?”_

_“Vanya,” She says self-consciously, eyes flickering around everyone’s faces, and wringing her hands together. “It’s a Russian name.”_

_“That’s a beautiful name Vanny! You deserve a high-five too!” He raises his hand again, and Vanya bites her lip, but taps her palm against Klaus’s shyly. A small smile spreads across her face when Klaus winks at her. Klaus turns to Diego next._

_“And you?” He asks, grinning._

_“Diego,” Diego answers, smirking._

_“Ooo, good choice Dee! Very sexy and heroic. Up-top!”_

_Diego laughs, and slaps his hand hard against Klaus’s palm, making Klaus yelp and hold his hand to his chest, pouting. “Don’t be such a dick, Klaus,” He says, grinning._

_“Don’t I get a high five?” Luther frowns._

_“No,” Klaus frowns back at him. “You didn’t choose your name, and regardless, a name like Loo Loo isn’t really cool enough-”_

_“Loo Loo?” Diego raises his eyebrows, amused._

_“Luther,” Luther says gruffy, face pink._

_“Well I think Luther’s a lovely name,” Allison announces, smiling tightly._

_“Well you would,” Klaus huffs. “But fine, yes Luther, you have a lovely name.”_

_“So, does he get a high five now?” Allison asks, widening her eyes at Klaus._

_“Hell no!” Klaus laughs loudly. Ben drops his head into his hands, and Five looks ready to teleport away from the whole conversation. “I said it was lovely, not cool. Lovely is the word you use when talking about an old person’s coat, or their very outdated hairstyle. Plus, he didn’t have the guts to make a decision for himself, he let Mom make it for him-”_

_“It’s just a name!” Luther growls, stepping towards Klaus threateningly. “I’m still Number One-”_

_“Oh yeah,” Klaus scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Just your identity, how silly of me to think it’s important.”_

Klaus winces, and sneaks a look at Luther, who is looking at him with arched eyebrows. “Er, sorry, Luther. I-”

“Man, he roasted you!” Diego snickers, and Five snorts at the look of outrage on Luther’s face.

Allison shushes them, but Klaus can see her lips are twitching whilst fighting a smile.

The videos continue, multiple memories captured and playing out on the screen, making them smile, laugh, and occasionally become red-faced in embarrassment at the antics of younger selves. Initially Klaus joins in, as enraptured as the rest of them, but as time ticks by, he becomes quieter, and he feels himself becoming more and more distant. He feels utterly exhausted, and the ache has well and truly settled in muscles making him feel stiff and uncomfortable.

“Oh, I almost forgot what he looked like when he was up to no good,” Allison murmurs wistfully, watching as a twelve-year-old Ben smiles crookedly at Klaus, both of them whispering and sneaking glances at Diego’s turned back.

“Yeah,” Luther agrees, eyes glued to the screen. “God, he didn’t deserve what happened to him. He was the best of us all.”

“There must have been something we could have done,” Diego mutters. “Anyone could see how he was struggling to control it, how scared he was of himself, and Dad sent him anyway.”

“I should have spoken up louder, protested harder,” Luther says quietly. “I failed him as a leader, and as his brother.”

“No, you didn’t,” Allison sighs. “We we’re all there, we all could have said something.”

“It would have made no difference,” Five says, expression unreadable as he watches the screen. “Dad would have sent him regardless.”

 _“Klaus, tell them Five’s right. It’s not their fault,”_ Ben pleads sadly, a tender expression on his face. _“If it hadn’t of happened on a mission, it would have another time. I was too frightened of The Horror to gain control.”_

Klaus clears his throat. “Ben says it wasn’t our fault, and that it would have happened whether he went on missions or not.”

“But if we’d offered our help? If we’d tried more to help him control his powers?” Luther urges, leaning forward, an edge of self-loathing in his expression.

But Ben is already shaking his head, looking gently at Luther. _“I wasn’t ready to accept it. I was too terrified of The Horror, and the risk of hurting anyone. I locked it away any chance I could, and it became more and more uncontrollable until, well, it ripped me apart instead.”_

Klaus repeats this, wincing along with the others as he talks about The Horror ripping Ben apart. He remembers how Ben looked when he'd first appeared to him, with shredded intestines falling out of the gaping hole in his abdomen, and his lower ribs snapped and sticking out of his chest; a picture of blood and gore and terror.

“I miss you, Ben,” Vanya murmurs sadly, following Klaus’s gaze to the bar. The others follow suit. “I’m sorry we didn’t believe you were there.”

 _“I’ve missed you all too,”_ Ben replies fondly. _“But I haven’t been alone, I’ve had this idiot to try and talk out of trouble.”_

Klaus rolls his eyes, but repeats what Ben’s said, making the others smile and laugh, even if Allison’s sounds a bit wet.

“A full-time occupation,” Five agrees, taking a drink.

“Man, the embarrassing stories you’ll be able to tell. We’re definitely having story time when you’re solid, I don’t trust Klaus not to change the details now.”

 _“Oh, I have plenty,”_ Ben grins, looking smug in the face of Klaus’s glare.

The others refocus on the video, smiling more freely, but Ben sighs, grin dropping from his face. He looks almost as tired as Klaus feels, and the worried crease between his eyebrows is back. His eyes meet Klaus’s across the room, unsettled, and Klaus turns back to the video, swallowing hard. He hears the unspoken words in the look. _My powers ripped me apart, and I’m worried the same thing is going to happen to you._

An icy prickle suddenly spreads across his back, one of the ghosts getting too close, and he shudders and presses himself against the couch cushion. He doesn’t like the dark, it’s hard to keep track of all the ghosties roaming around. They’re mostly drifting around the fringes of the room, looking like slow-moving shadows in the darkness. Every so often one will come closer, and reach out to touch him, making him flinch. Diego keeps sending him odd looks, which he ignores.

Beady eyes hobbles in at some point, looking furious when she spots him, and then absolutely enraged when her dark eyes fall on Vanya who is, god-forbid, smiling.

He tracks her, feeling disturbed, but she just stumbles in front of the television and bares her teeth at him. He blinks and tries to adjust as she blocks out the light from the screen. Rude.

The room seems to get colder and colder, and he shivers and thinks longingly of the bath, imagining the feeling of burning hot water on his skin. He turns his head to peer up at the stairs, and gasps, jerking up at the sight of a Charlie behind the tree, watching him coldly. _Shit, where was Dave? Where was his gun?_

“Klaus, what?” Diego says, and Klaus blinks, watching dizzyingly as the image falls away, and a ghost slowly ambles from behind the pillar, sobbing quietly.

“I think someone’s lost interest,” Diego teases him, smirking. But Klaus can only stare at the ghost, feeling sick.

“Well, he did always have a poor attention span, but it is getting late. We should probably call it a day soon,” Luther yawns. “We’ll work more on hand-to-hand tomorrow-”

Everyone groans and grumbles, and they all start talking. Klaus tears his eyes away from the ghost, and attempts to refocus on the conversation, swallowing convulsively around the nausea, and feeling strange. He ignores Ben, who he can feel watching him worriedly.

“We should do this again,” Vanya says warmly, smiling. “That was nice.”

Allison smiles happily as she pauses the video. “I’ll have a look through the cabinet again this week. The other thing I wanted to ask about is the special training videos, I was wondering if anyone thinks they would help with-”

Special training.

The adrenaline comes back in a dizzying rush.

“Wait, wait, wait,” He interrupts hurriedly. His hands are shaking. “You’re saying Dad kept the videos of special training?”

“Of course, he did,” Five says, as if Klaus is being particularly dense. “If anything, that’s exactly what I would have expected the old man to keep, so he can go back and review the data.”

“Data,” Diego growls. “You mean abuse.”

“Maybe Dad didn’t keep any footage of your training, Klaus,” Vanya suggests, eyes gentle and perceptive. “You always left the academy for yours after all.”

Maybe she’s right, he doesn’t remember seeing any recording equipment in the Mausoleum. It did seem pretty pointless for Dad to record his sessions, given that he couldn’t even see half of what was happening, and the other half was just Klaus crying and shrieking pathetically. He lets out a slow breath, and tries to will his heartbeat to slow down.

Allison doesn’t wait long before shattering the happy illusion.

“No, I’m pretty sure there’s tapes with Number Four’s training written on them. I didn’t go through anyone’s tapes though. I thought I should ask first.”

“Knock yourself out,” Diego says with a huff, but his hands are clenched tightly into fists.

Luther stretches, and sends a quizzical look at Klaus. “Where was your special training anyway? Where did Dad take you?”

They all look at him expectedly, looking for all the world like what they’ve just asked isn’t a big deal, just an insignificant question with a boring answer. He swallows and fidgets with his sweaty hands. Ben jumps down from the bar, and comes to hover over his shoulder.

“None of your beeswax,” He answers with false cheeriness, but there’s an edge to his voice he can’t get rid of.

“We could just get the tape and see for ourselves,” Diego snorts, shoving lightly at Klaus’s shin, so maybe Klaus had managed to successfully hide his building panic. “What are you being so skittish for?”

Then again, maybe not.

“Maybe because he did something embarrassing?”

“Nope, can’t be that. Half of everything he does is embarrassing. Plus, I’ve seen way too much over the years not to know Klaus is a shameless son of a bitch.”

“Truer words have never been spoken,” Allison says, smiling affectionately.

“So, go on then Klaus, where did Dad take you? You know about our special training,” Luther says, makes a circular motion with his hand to indicate everyone in the room.

That’s true, all of them had moaned and grumbled about special training when they were kids. It had been brutal for all of them, but mostly because it meant Dad would make them work their powers to exhaustion and beyond. There was only three of them who had truly **_hated_** special training, reducing to just him and Ben once Dad had stopped experimenting with Diego’s ability to hold his breath underwater, deeming it useless. He actually thinks Allison secretly enjoyed her training and the power rush it gave her, a goddess of reality amongst mere mortals.

“An old person’s home,” Klaus somehow manages to get out, and he feels proud at how little his voice shakes. “Made me speak to the dead hubbies of the old grannie’s so their love could transcend even death.”

Vanya sniggers, and shakes her head. Diego picks up a handful of popcorn from the bowl on Klaus’s lap, and throws it at his face, grinning.

“He did not! That’s way too close to human kindness from the bastard.”

Klaus tilts his head, and shrugs. His heart is going so fast he’s surprised it hasn’t given up the gun yet. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, there were films of the mausoleum, maybe even of that night when they’d grabbed him, and tore at him, and **no**. Surely Dad wouldn’t have kept that._

“Nah, you’re right. He actually set me up with a mystic trailer at the end of a shady ass alley. Crystal ball, cushions on the floor, the works. I earned him a few bucks. Helped him pay for all this,” He says, waving his hands in the air to indicate the grandiose furnishings. _“You’re welcome.”_

Allison laughs, and settles more comfortably next to Vanya, knocking their shoulders together. “Leave it guys, he’s never going to tell us when he’s like this. Vanya, what are you doing on wed-”

“Was it a graveyard?”

A pause.

“Come on Five, even Dad wouldn’t-” Allison’s starts laughing, trailing off abruptly when she glimpses Klaus’s expression. “But surely, he- Dad was awful, yes, but he wouldn’t have done that right? I mean, you were six years old when you started leaving for training.”

Klaus sits wide-eyed, staring at Five. He feels like he’s just been sucker-punched. There’s an awful dizzying sensation inside his skull, and an odd loud buzzing in his ears.

Five is staring back at him, a strange, terrible expression on his face. The assessing look is back in his eyes, but there’s an air of resignation around him, like he’s already catalogued all the pieces and put it together.

“Klaus,” Allison says insistently, eyes becoming frantic. Klaus thinks distantly that she’s never looked more like a mother. “Please tell me he didn’t bring you to a graveyard for special training at six years old.”

“What’s the problem?” Luther asks, confused. “It makes sense doesn’t it? Wouldn’t it be the best place for Klaus to train?”

Klaus suddenly can’t breathe.

“Six years old, Luther!” Allison hisses, aghast. “They’d be so many ghosts, and Klaus probably couldn’t control his powers at all then. It would have been terrifying for a little boy!”

He can’t find his lungs.

“Well, why would it be?” Luther shrugs, frowning. “It would’ve just look like a field crowded with people, wouldn’t it? If he couldn’t make them come and go? Not exactly horror film material-”

“I know, but he’d have known they were dead. It would have been traumatising-”

 _“They’re all idiots,”_ Ben breathes incredulously. _“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”_

“Well it’s his power, it would be normal for him,” Luther argues. “If anything, it would be interesting to talk to those people-”

“No,” Diego glowers at Luther. “Klaus has always hated the ghosts, why would he want to be put in a creepy ass place full of them?”

“Yeah, well, if that was Klaus’s special training, I think he got off lightly. All he had to do was stand around being the centre of attention, which we all know he loves-”

“Well that’s just-”

“Woah! I think someone’s resentful they didn’t receive that high-five after all, _Loo Loo_ ,”

“Screw you, Diego! Why-”

He actually can’t breathe.

It makes sense, it makes sense.

He’s failing miserably at his powers, and training in the graveyard makes sense. They’re going to make him go there, to that place, because he’s failing, and then it’ll only be a matter of time before they think about the mausoleum, where those **_things_** are ready and waiting for him to come back.

It would make perfect sense. It would.

Drawn in like moths to the flame at his terror, the ghosts which had been looming around the edges of the room, come closer, dead eyes fixated. Beady eyes suddenly looks _positively excited_.

“Woah, Woah, woah, Klaus!” Diego shouts worriedly, as Klaus bolts upright, trying to get off the sofa, gasping for breath. “Luther, shut up for a second. Klaus, buddy, breathe.”

Diego reaches towards him, but in the dark it reminds him of **_them_** as they grabbed him, raked their nails cruelly across his skin, and made him bleed. He flinches hard, throwing himself away from Diego, and onto the hard floor.

There’re sudden surprised explanations, shouts of “Klaus!” and “What the fuck!”, but it all sounds very far away. He wheezes against the cold wood, trying to get his lungs to thaw, but it’s no use, and he claws frantically at his frozen chest. He tries to look up for Ben, _he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, but he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe._ But when he looks up Beady Eyes is there, crouched down right in front of him, face alight with malice. Her hooked nose is inches from his own, as if she can’t bear to be any further away whilst she almost salivates in excitement at his suffering. He hopes Vanya made the bitch’s death **_fucking hurt._**

Something suddenly touches his back unexpectedly, and he screams, and then he’s in the mausoleum. He can’t remember how he got here, but Dad must have brought him. He’s panicking, and he knows he needs to calm down, needs to look unafraid so Dad will let him out, but they can touch him, and they’re grabbing at him, and he just wants to die.

The things laugh at him, and he can feel their amusement at his whimpering as they scratch at his face, tug his hair, and wrap their cold hands around his neck. They’re not ghosts anymore. He doesn’t know what these things are, but there’s no humanity left in them, just essence’s of **_fury, pain, loss, sadism, fear,_** pulling at him like starving dogs over a piece of meat.

There’s a loud sound, like chair legs or a rusty door scraping across the floor, and they all suddenly stop touching him. Maybe Dad is going to let him out early? He looks eagerly, _desperately_ , towards the door, but it remains dark. It’s still dark, and there’s a sudden loud bang, and shouting, and then he’s in ‘Nam.

He stands just metres from the trees, extremely disorientated, because how could he have gotten here? its night and very dark, but he can see shadows moving quickly in the jungle, and gunfire bursting through the haze. There’s no time to get his bearings though, because Sarge is there, shouting at him to “Get moving! Do you want to become worm food, boy?!” And he can’t see Dave. God, where is Dave?

There are choppers overhead, and men crying out and shouting around him in a confusing mess of sound. Mickey turns around to grin at him wryly, and Klaus feels a part of his heart crumble to dust, because _Jesus, he’s missing half his face_. They’d got him, they’d killed him. The young, free-spirited twenty-year old Mickey, who was going to ask his childhood sweetheart to marry him when he escaped ‘Nam, and was always ready to chime in with a cheeky quip to lighten even the darkest of days, was dead, and the poor bastard doesn’t even seem to realise it.

“Hargreeves, get those legs moving, NOW!” Sarge roars, face purple. “Katz is already ahead; do you want him to get shot coming back to save your stupid ass?!”

Klaus moves. He throws himself forward, and then he’s running through the jungle, branches catching at his forearms and making them sting like a bitch. There’s Charlie’s all around them, and he still can’t see Dave, **_where the hell is Dave_**?

He trips over something firm, and falls to the ground, banging his head on a rock. It smart’s terribly, but there’s no time for that if he wants to live, so he picks up his gun, and then he’s in a ditch, and he’s making jokes because if he doesn’t laugh he’ll cry.

“Whew! Christ on a cracker, that was a close one, huh, Dave? Dave?” He grins, and reaches out to punch at his shoulder, but Dave’s still, and Klaus feels his heart miss a beat, and he suddenly feels cold all-over. He quickly reaches out and drags Dave onto his back, thoughts of avoiding gunfire long forgotten, and there’s a gory mess of a hole in Dave’s chest that seems relatively small compared to its significance. _Fuck, it should really be the size of the moon-_

The moon. Luther. The academy. What?

“Turn on the lights!” Someone shouts, and through the blinding panic he thinks why do they want light? That’s dangerous, the Charlie’s will be able to see them better then, they’ll be like sitting ducks.

He sobs, and suddenly little number Five is there, dressed in academy pyjamas and kneeling in the mud by Dave’s head. Five’s mouth is moving, but Klaus can’t hear what he’s saying. He looks scared, and Klaus loves his little brother and wants him to live, so he tells Five to go, to save himself, and there’s a sudden flash of understanding on Five’s face, and just for a moment he looks broken.

 _“Klaus, listen to me. You’re having a flashback. You’re at the academy, you’re safe, it’s 2019-”_ It’s not Five’s voice, even though his mouth's still moving, it’s Ben’s, and Klaus looks down at Dave’s lifeless body and cries, feeling lost, and confused, and devastated. He doesn’t know what’s real or what’s happening. _“-Your family is with you, and you’re safe. Can you look around the room for me? Can you name five things that you can see right now?”_

He shakes, but slowly nods his head and takes big gulping breaths, feeling his heart pounding against his ribs. He tears his gaze away from the blood at the corner of Dave’s lips, and looks up. He takes in the explosions, the gunfire, the screaming men, and the smoke in the sky. He opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a painful sob, and he quickly shakes his head, feeling panicked. “Ok, ok, that’s ok, Klaus. Can you take deep breaths for me? Take a deep breath in and count to 5, then exhale for a count of 5? Come on Klaus, breathe with me, 1…2…3…4-”

He takes a deep breath in, and follows Ben’s instructions, listening to his strong, calm voice, and trusting his judgement. The word blurs and fades gradually around him as he breathes. The trees become stone pillars, the mud and sandbags become wood and furniture, and then he’s back in the academy, and Dave is gone from his arms.

He finds that he’s hunched on the floor, the bar hard and cold against his back. His head is pounding, and there’s a suspicious, sticky wetness running down the side of his face, so he guesses he must have hit his head after all. His siblings are all stood around him, except from Five who is knelt in front of him.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” He chokes out, voice hoarse and shaky. He raises a hand to his head and hisses in pain, but it helps ground him so he presses harder. He’s trembling violently, and he can’t seem to stop.

The ghosts’ edge in closer, watching him. There’s a quiet chanting starting up that he tries to ignore, _Klaus, Klaus, Klaus._ Ben goes to stand behind Five, trying to block some of them out.

“W-wha-what the h-hell was that?” Diego stutters angrily, once it’s evident Klaus is no longer going crazy and seeing things that aren’t there. His eyes are blazing, but Klaus knows it’s really worry driving it. Diego has always been emotional and impulsive, and he’s never learnt to cope with something he can’t fight back.

“That, Diego, was a flashback.” Five says, watching Klaus intently. The sniper’s gaze is back, and Klaus feels raw like an exposed nerve. “Please don’t be an imbecile.”

There’s a tense silence, only Klaus’s ragged breathing cutting across the terrible stillness that settles. He actively tries to slow it down, tries to inhale and exhale around the frenzy in his chest, but it’s extremely difficult, and from the worried faces watching him he doesn’t think he’s doing a very good job.

There’s a sudden loud bang, and he jumps, ducking his head and trying not to choke on air. Five curses, and immediately whips his head around to glare fiercely at Diego. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you absolute sodding halfwit!” He snarls viciously. “How the fuck is kicking furniture going to help? You must have a brain cell hiding in that thick skull of yours somewhere, **_fucking use it_**.”

Diego growls, and violently kicks the chair again sending it crashing to the floor. He stomps past it, and storms towards the pillars, face furious.

“Nice, Diego. Nice,” Five sneers sarcastically. “That clearly helped. Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going to get that fucking tape,” Diego spits.

Five is gone in a flash of blue, and reappears directly in front of Diego. He puts a skinny foot against Diego’s middle, and kicks him back into the room. Diego stumbles backwards, and catches himself on the side table behind him. A lamp falls and smashes to pieces on the floor.

Klaus winces, and tries to open his mouth, but he can’t seem to make the muscles work properly. Allison sits cross-legged on the floor next to him, her eyes filled with worry. She slowly puts a hand out, hovering in the air just above his knee, and Klaus forces himself reach out and grasp it, holding tightly and feeling the warmth of her palm against his sweaty one. It helps.

“In what world is that going to help?” Five barks, eyes flashing. “Good God, Diego, you really are just plain stupid. Look at your brother! He’s right there, not in some godforsaken tape-”

“Oh, fuck off and get off your high horse! You weren’t even there for half of his life! Too busy being a fuck-up for forty years, and then murdering innocent people for shits and giggles-”

Five snarls in rage and lunges for Diego, who grins nastily back, with a knife appearing in his hand. Luther moves, just catching Five by the back of his pyjama top before he can get to Diego, and pulls his arms behind his back, holding on tightly. Five bares his teeth, and steps hard on Luther’s foot, disappearing, and then reappearing stood on the side table. He waits for Diego to spin round and then kicks him in the face, sending him crashing to the floor.

“The only reason you’re not dead right now, is that I have more important things to deal with!” Five hurls at him, eyes glinting, and hair a mess. He then turns quickly to Luther, who cowers slightly under the sudden attention. “You fucking deal with the prick. No one is getting that tape.”

Five jumps off the side table, and walks cautiously over to Klaus, kneeling down next to Allison. “Klaus-” He begins, before he stops abruptly. He closes his eyes, exhales slowly and loudly through his nose as if searching deep, deep, down for patience, and he then turns his head agonisingly slowly to glare ferociously at Diego, who had just thrown a cushion at the back of his head.

“Do you want to die?” Five asks him simply. “I can make it happen. Just say the word, Diego.”

Vanya looks worriedly at them all. Her palms are held out in front of her, hovering awkwardly in the air. There’s a silver tinge to her eyes, and the glasses and bottles behind the bar are tinkling as they shake.

Five swings his gaze quickly round to look at her. “Vanya,” He bites through gritted teeth, and Five must really be at the end of his rope if he’s snapping at her. “Control yourself, **_now_**. This is not the time.”

Vanya suddenly looks confused, frowning down at her hands, and then to the glasses trembling behind the bar.

 _“I’m speechless,_ ” Ben says, looking shell-shocked and seemingly talking to himself. _“I honestly don’t have the words.”_

Klaus finds he can’t help it, and he laughs, but then he can’t stop, and it sounds slightly hysterical to his own ears. Five’s staring at him again, but with such an expression of alarm on his face that it’s just hilarious, and he laugh’s harder. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Five look so alarmed at anything.

“What the hell?” He hears Luther ask, but Klaus can’t see him through the tears in his eyes.

“You broke him,” He hears Diego say accusingly.

“Me? **_Me?_ **I broke him? Are you dense? Honestly Diego, you better sleep with one eye open tonight. I might snap and end up doing natural selection a favour by ending your sorry little life.”

“Guys, shut up,” Allison growls. “For fuck’s sake, both of you grow up!”

They all blessedly shut up, and Klaus closes his eyes and waits for the laughter to stop bubbling up from his chest, focusing on the feel of Allison’s hand still clasped tightly in his own. After what feels like a lifetime, he thinks he’s in control again. With it, comes a sudden realisation that he’s just had a mental breakdown in front of his family, and with that comes an overwhelming feeling of shame and embarrassment.

He sighs tiredly, and opens his eyes to see his siblings all looking at him in concern. He feels his cheeks heat up, and he glances quickly towards the stairs, mapping out an escape route. Ben catches the movement and shakes his head unhappily. Klaus lets go of Allison’s hand.

“Are- Are you ok now?” Luther asks awkwardly. He’s shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably, and his shoulders are hunched up.

Five snorts. “Yes, he’s obviously in tip-top shape.”

“What happened?” Luther asks, but when it looks like Five is going to round on him next, he hurriedly follows this up with “What did you see?”

Klaus fidgets under their attention, eyes flickering from one face to another. He clears his throat, wincing at how dry it feels. “Nothing, doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, no, try that again,” Diego growls. “Sure didn’t look like nothing when you tried to brain yourself on the corner of the coffee table.”

Five sends him a dark, seething look, and Diego takes a deep breath. He looks slightly guilty as he exhales.

Vanya’s hand appears in his line of vision, making him flinch. Her face falls, and Klaus sees she was only passing him a glass of water. He takes it from her gratefully, and tries to give her a smile. He takes a couple of sips before answering Diego.

“I imagined a ghost version of Dad in a mankini?” He offers weakly, feeling the exhaustion rush through him as the adrenaline pulses away.

 _“Klaus,”_ Ben says disapprovingly, but his face is worried. _“They just want to help. Maybe consider telling them the truth?”_

Allison squeezes his knee, making sure she clearly telegraphs the movement so it’s expected. He doesn’t like it. It makes him feel delicate, _breakable_. “Klaus,” She simply says, her large brown eyes look sad.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Not right now,” He replies honestly, to the both of them. _God, he feels awful._

“Was it about special training?” Diego asks. Five growls lowly under his breath.

“Please don’t get the tape,” He pleads. “I-I don’t-”

“No one is looking at any tapes right now,” Five says resolutely, but Klaus hears the _right now_ , and knows Five well enough to know that he plans on looking eventually. There’s nothing Five hates more than being ignorant of accessible knowledge. Klaus will just have to make the disc disappear.

“But your training was just speaking to ghosts, right? Why would remembering that make you do- well, do that,” Luther waves a hand up and down to indicate the past ten minutes. He looks very out of his depth.

“One more stupid question out of anyone’s mouth, and I will not be held accountable for my actions,” Five threatens, voice low and dangerous. There’s a pulsing in his temple that looks positively concerning.

“I- I mean the ghosts- they don’t-” Klaus tries to explain. “They can- It’s not just the-” but he just can’t do it. He blows out a breath and runs a hand through his hair, wincing as fingers encounter the wound on his forehead.

Five slaps his hand away, and Klaus winces as Five reaches towards his head; he isn’t exactly known for being gentle. But surprisingly, he just tilts Klaus’s head to one side, and softly brushes away the curls sticking to the edge of the wound. His mouth presses into a thin line, and he nods to himself. He disappears, and then flashes back seven seconds later with a suture kit.

“Mom can-” Allison starts, but Five cuts her off.

“Mom’s sleeping,” He says, meaning she’s charging, but none of them like it when Five uses that word. “Don’t worry, I’ve had plenty of practice over the years.” He starts cleaning the wound carefully with saline.

“You’ve been drinking.”

“Again, plenty of practice,” Five replies, and smirks when Klaus lets out a little huff of laughter.

“You nearly bled out from that shrapnel wound you stitched.”

“Well, there were more important concerns at the time.”

“More important concerns! Do you hear yourself, Five?”

Five ignores Allison, and continues cleaning the wound. Once he’s finished, he hesitates. “There’s no lidocaine,” He says, looking apologetically at Klaus.

Klaus just nods, putting the glass down by his side, and waving his hand to indicate for him to continue. Five grimaces, but starts to suture. He doesn’t ask if Klaus wants any pain killers, and for that he’s grateful. When he’s done, he packs up the kit, and Klaus feels the time is right to make his escape.

“Well!” He yawns loudly, making everyone jump, and thoroughly disrupting the sombre cloud that had settled in over the room. He pushes himself up from the floor, and waves away the hands moving to help him. He feels crowded. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m exhausted. My bed’s calling me, so toodles!”

Five glares at him. “You could have a concussion, you idiot.”

“But Five, I need to sleep!” He whines. “I want to sleep!”

“But shouldn’t we talk more about what’s just happened?” Luther says.

Five ignores him too. He looks at Klaus with borrowed patience. “I never said you couldn’t. But someone should stay with you overnight whilst you do.”

“Ben’s with me.”

“You know why Ben can’t count.”

“Well, Ben thinks that’s rude.”

“He does not.”

 _“I don’t,”_ Ben echoes, looking more relaxed now that Klaus is acting more like his usual self, or as Ben would say it, like a pain in the ass.

“Five,” He whines.

“No.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Diego offers quietly.

Five nods, accepting this, but says nothing. Diego winces.

“Five, I’m so-”

A _thwoop_ and Five’s gone. Vanya glances at the stairs, and then looks worriedly back at Klaus.

“Go,” Klaus says. “I’m fine Vee, really. You’re probably the only one of us able to talk him down from murdering Diego anyway.”

She smiles weakly, and walks over to him to kiss his cheek. “Get some rest, you look exhausted. We’ll talk tomorrow,” She says gently, and then leaves the room in search of Five.

“I don’t know who’s looking after who tonight,” He says, looking at Diego, and pretending he’s not reeling from that show of affection. “My head injury might be the only thing standing between you and a bloody end.”

Diego smiles slightly, but it looks painful. His eyes are filled with guilt. “I admit, that was a shitty thing for me to say.”

Klaus shrugs, and then yawns again, too exhausted for that conversation. “Come on then Dee,” He says tiredly, using the nickname to try and get a better smile out of him. “You can creep on me while I sleep. You can’t have the arm chair though, sorry, that’s Ben’s. You’ll have to take the floor.”

They both mumble goodnight to Luther and Allison, who are stood together, obviously waiting for them to leave the room before they start gossiping like old women.

“Ben’s dead,” Diego says, with a raised eyebrow, following him out of the room. Klaus can hear hushed whispers starting from the living room when they reach the stairs, but it’s too low for him to make out the words. “He doesn’t sleep.”

“Sorry,” Klaus shrugs. “Ben’s chair.”

Ben smiles at Klaus as they walk the stairs together.

“Guess I’ll have the floor then,” Diego sighs.

“Also, I should probably warn you, I’ve got a few house guests,” He tells Diego. “One of them isn't the prettiest, and she’ll probably try to kill you. But don’t worry, you can’t see her, and she can’t touch you, so you’re golden really.”

Diego looks startled. “Wait what? Klaus are you being serious? Man, tell her to go away! I don’t want to be molested by a ghost in the middle of the night.”

“Why would I do that?” Klaus grins at him. “It’ll be funny.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” Diego grumbles, as he opens the door to his room to grab the duvet and pillow off his bed.

“Like me? Be real Diego, you love me.”

“Honestly, real lucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!
> 
> Here's a very early update for the New Year.  
> Sorry it's a bit of a long one, I couldn't find a good place to split it.  
> Hope you enjoy it. Lol, pls don't kill me.  
> Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos! They mean the world :)


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Self-harm.

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

Klaus grimaces, staring up at the ceiling, and watching as a spider weaves its way in and out of the crack in the peeling plaster. His eyes are stinging, and he feels achy and sore _everywhere_ , like he’s just transformed into one giant, tender bruise.

And his head.

 _Jesus Christ_ , his head is _killing_ him.

Diego clears his throat uncomfortably.

Klaus thinks it’s far too early for this.

“Look, I know I reacted poorly-”

Klaus snorts loudly, unable to help himself despite the expected pulse of pain it sends rocketing awfully around the inside of his skull.

“-Ok, ok, so I reacted really fucking terribly,” Diego concedes with a self-deprecating huff of laughter. Klaus can hear him flipping a blade quickly around his fingers in agitation. “But Klaus, you worried me. I’ve never seen you like that before. What the hell did Dad do to you?”

Klaus sighs miserably, and unconsciously reaches a hand up to scratch at his forehead, freezing at the irritated hiss from nearby. He scowls hard at the ceiling, and throws his hand back down so it bounces against the mattress.

_Fucking Ben._

An annoying itch had started up around his stitches overnight, only becoming more irritating as the hours had ticked by. He feels an almost irresistible urge to dig his fingernails into the tingly, itchy skin and scrape out the sensation. But every time his fingers have so much as twitched in that direction, Ben has hissed at him to _“-not scratch it, for God’s sake, Klaus. Are you five? How many times-”_

To say that their patience with each other is razor thin right now, would be a severe understatement. They’d had _words_ overnight, whispering furiously over Diego’s rumbling snores.

_“No.”_

_“Klaus-”_

_“I said no. Non, Nee, Nein, Неt, **No**. God, you’re so pushy!”_

_“They’re not going to let it go. You just had a flashback in front of them all!”_

_“Oh, Benny, have you learnt nothing? Fake it to you make it, baby. Just distract, deflect, and deflect again until bingo! They’ve lost interest!”_

_“If you think any of them, no less Five, are going to fall for your bullshit, then you’ve hit your head harder than I thought. Plus, there’s the DVD’s-”_

_“Not if they mysteriously go missing, there’s not.”_

_“Mysteriously? Seriously? Of course, they’ll know it was you! Just talk to them-”_

_“Oh, come on! We both know they’ll just think I’m being dramatic. Boo-hoo, Four got locked up all alone in the dark by Daddy-kins, whilst the mean voices talked to him. You heard what Luther said, what they all think! It’s not like they can see our lovely lot, even on the tapes.”_

_“Then **tell them.** Help them understand.”_

_“Um, nope. I think I’ll take a rain check.”_

_“You promised. You promised me you’d tell them about the ghosts.”_

_“Yeah? Well thing’s change. C’est la vie.” Such is life_

_“You are unbelievable.”_

_“Look, I made no promises about telling them about that place, and I won’t. So, stop with your pestering Casper, you’re becoming a bore.”_

His family finding out about the Mausoleum would just be – **_No_**. They already thought he was weak; forever designated the lookout because he couldn’t be trusted to be anything other than useless. The thought of his siblings knowing, or even worse, _watching_ , how he’d screamed and cried for hours, how he’d scratched pathetically at the stone door until his nails were broken and bloody, whimpering and pleading for Daddy to just _“Let me out! Let me out! Please, Dad, I’m not scared of them anymore, I promise! I promise! Please, please, just-”_ made him **_burn_** with shame.

“Come on, man. Talk to me,” Diego sighs, and Klaus blinks away the flashes of stone walls, rotting wide grins, and reaching hands.

“Die- _go_ ,” He whines, hiding his face in his hands. “It’s too early for chit-chat. _I’m tired.”_

Diego mutters something under his breath, but the words are lost to the piercing shriek that one of the ghosties makes from somewhere down the hall.

He hadn’t slept all night, hadn’t been able to risk it with Diego laid sleeping merely steps away, and Ben glaring at him in heavy, disapproving silence. Klaus knows he talks in his sleep; hell, his squad had found it hilarious back in ‘Nam. _“Hey, Klaus, what the hell is a Beyoncé?”_ “ _Man, why were you dreaming about numbers? I thought you hated maths?” “You were muttering some spooky shit last night Hargreeves, honest to God thought I was going to have to nick Johnny’s cross at one point. You were muttering as if you’d been possessed by the Devil himself-”_

He dreads to think what Diego might’ve heard if Klaus had allowed himself even a second of sleep – “ _Please, please, let me out! Dad, Dad, please. No, I need to get out, Dad, they’re going to hurt me! Dad, they’re coming, Dad! Dad!”_

The main issue with sleeping in front of an audience though, is the scratching.

Scratches had started appearing weeks ago on his forearms, initially as raised red lines that disappeared almost as soon as he’d noticed them. He’d shrugged them off and not thought much more about them. But the constant, maddening itch under his skin remained relentless, _and he’d scratched, and scratched, and scratched_ , and before he’d known it, there were deep gouges in place of shallow lines, taking days rather than minutes to disappear.

He’s caught himself in the act a few times; a sudden sharp sting that’ll grab his attention, and he’ll find his hand buried halfway up his sleeve, the skin underneath broken and red raw. He’s been doing it a lot in his sleep, and he’s been waking up to burning forearms, and flakes of dried blood under his fingernails almost daily.

 _Thank God_ for Pogo’s genius idea of leaving the TV on for Ben, as Ben would be sure to notice Klaus valiantly trying to scratch his skin off in his sleep, and, quite frankly, Klaus can do without yet another thing for Ben to incessantly nag him about.

The worst part of it all, is that he’s been forced to wear long-sleeves, because whilst his family can be oblivious at the best of times, there’s no hope in hell they’d miss _this_. He’d received some odd looks in combat training, but he’d just quipped _“Fashion, darling’s!”_ with a wink, despite how utterly _ugly_ the tops are, and his siblings had all rolled their eyes and shook their heads. Ben had been suspicious at first, but he’d accepted Klaus’s explanation of _“It’s cold,”_ with a grimace, and then glared darkly at the ghosties that were crowding around them at the time.

He’s tried to stop, but he’s found it an impossible habit to break. He’d even tried searching online for tips using the phone Diego had gifted him once it was obvious Klaus wasn’t going to pawn the device for drugs money. That had been a complete waste of time, with google suggesting results about depression, anxiety, self-harm, and the freakin’ Samaritans number of all things.

It’s not self-harm.

It’s not.

It doesn’t count if he doesn’t know he’s doing it.

“Fine,” Diego grunts. “But I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.”

Klaus huffs, hopes of Diego just leaving him be crumbling into dust. He sits up, holding back a wince as his head pounds, and looks at Diego sat awkwardly on his make-shift bed on the floor. “What d’you even want me to say?”

“The _truth_.”

“Ugh, _fine_. Look, one of the ghostie’s managed to give me a bit of a shock. Embarrassing really, but des choses de merde arrivent parfois.” _Shit things happen sometimes_

He sends a wry smirk at Ben, who narrows his eyes at him. _Hey look, he’d mentioned the ghosts._

“You were crying.”

“You would have shed tears too, if you’d seen the outfit she had on,” He shudders dramatically. “Absolute tragedy.”

“No. No, Klaus. We’re not doing this. None of your games, ok?” Diego fixes him with a steely glare, abruptly stilling the motion of the blade held between his fingers. “You were sat there, rocking back and forth, with no fucking clue where you were or what the hell was going on-”

“Sounds like my type of Friday night-”

“Klaus!” Diego growls, throwing his pillow at him. Klaus is too tired and slow for even things like _reflexes_ apparently, and gets smacked in the face. He picks it up and throws it at the arm-chair that’s just snorted in disgust. Diego looks at him, unimpressed. “What does Ben say?”

“ ** _Ben_** ,” Klaus says pointedly, watching the ghost sit up straighter to glower at him, with Diego’s pillow sticking out of his abdomen. The sight makes him feel a little bit better. “Is being a cranky little ghostie this morning, and is in time-out for the foreseeable.”

Diego arches his brows, and sends a sympathetic glance to where Ben is now most definitely _sulking_ , his gaze misses by a few inches. “In other words, you’re being stubborn and unreasonable, and poor Ben is ready to tear his hair out in frustration with you.”

“Ouch,” Klaus puts a hand over his chest, and pouts. “Brother, _you wound me_.”

“Why do you never make thing’s easy?” Diego says tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Why can’t you just talk to me like a normal person?”

“Excuse you, I am easy. I am very easy. I even have character testimonials that say so and everything!”

“Well, whoever said that deserves a good punch in the face.”

“Oh, always so violent, Diego. _Sheesh_ ,” He says teasingly, and pretends to swoon. “My hero, defending my honour!”

Diego’s eyes flash. “I can’t protect you for shit, if you don’t tell me what’s going on!”

Klaus rolls his eyes, and raises his eyebrows. “Protect me? I don’t need protecting! I’m not one of your helpless civvies’, waiting for you to swoop in like a knight in strange bondage gear to rescue them.”

“No,” Diego agrees through clenched teeth. “You’re my stupid ass little brother who seems to get in a world of trouble as soon as my back’s turned, and who’s so traumatised by something he won’t tell me anything about, that he had a mental breakdown on our living room floor.”

“Little? Pft, cute. But aww, thanks! A fabulous summary. Can I use that on my Grindr profile?”

_“You are so full of shit, Klaus.”_

“You’re very lucky you have a head injury, so I can’t hit you right now.”

“Um, violence,” Klaus tuts, smirking, and leans back on his elbows. “Besides, didn’t you just hit me with a pillow, like, a few minutes ago? You could have killed brain cells already.”

_“Yes, your precious last few.”_

Klaus makes a face at Ben, and sticks his tongue out.

Diego glares at him, and then frowns angrily down at the floor. His expression changes as the seconds go by, brow furrowing deeply in contemplation as he slowly twirls the knife in his hands. When he lifts his head, there’s a determined look in his eyes that makes Klaus feel apprehensive, and the room suddenly fills with tension.

Diego stands up, and steps towards him. The mattress dips under his weight as he sits stiffly on the edge of it, spine rigid and eyes fixed firmly on a patch of damp on the opposite wall. His jaw is tight, and his knuckles are white from how hard he’s clenching them on his thighs. Klaus thinks he looks like he’s preparing to get his nails pulled out one-by-one by a rusty pair of pliers.

“Look, I understand how hard it can be to talk about. But it helps, ok?” Klaus stares at him, feeling a stirring of _something_ in his gut he doesn’t like. Ben frowns, and leans further forward to listen. “I’d have nightmares, still do sometimes, about the t-t-tank,” Diego admits, voice strained. “I’d wake her up thrashing in my sleep, convinced I was still in there; feeling the heavy pressure of the water, and not having the space to move.”

Outside the room there’s the sound of old pipes groaning as the house struggles to splutter out hot water, and muffled voices coming from the early-riser’s downstairs. He can hear Pogo’s cane tapping slowly along one of the corridors, and Mom’s humming from one of the rooms down the hall. Inside the bedroom, Klaus dares not breathe too loudly.

“Eudora, I mean,” Diego says quietly, clearing his throat when his voice breaks subtly over the name. Klaus _hurts_ horribly for him. “I’d have dreams about accidentally inhaling, choking on the water, and drowning as Dad’s warped face stared disapprovingly through the glass.”

 _Jesus Christ_. Klaus feels his breath hitch in his throat. “Did Dad ever-”

“No,” Diego’s mouth twists bitterly. “I never inhaled, never failed a time goal, never _disappointed_ him that way. But it was always a fear. It’s why I don’t like water now.”

 _“God, Diego,”_ Ben says, looking horrified.

“What I’m trying to say, is that talking about it can be really fucking hard, but it does help. I wish you’d talk to me.”

“I’m sorry about what happened to her.”

“Me too,” Diego turns to look at him with a small sad smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “But we’re talking about _you_ right now. No one will judge you for whatever happened during special training, you know? Dad was a right bastard.”

Klaus hums disbelievingly.

“Klaus,” Diego sighs, exasperated. “Please man, was last night just about special training or is there something else going on you’re not telling us about? You’ve been so jumpy, and you look like you haven’t slept in goddamn weeks. You can trust me, you know? Whatever it is, I’ll help you.”

“Being sober is a riot,” He shrugs, tapping his fingers restlessly against the sheet.

Diego’s face hardens instantly. “You can’t blame all this on being sober, it’s been weeks! If anything, you should be looking better not worse. You look half-dead!”

“Do you always compliment the ladies like this? Your technique could use some serious work-”

Diego clenches his jaw, eyes narrowed. “The week of the apocalypse, when I gave you a ride, you said you’d lost someone, that you’d followed them to the frontlines. You told me you were a _vet_. What did you mean by that?”

Klaus looks down at the duvet, and breathes around the heartache. He resists the urge to reach up and grasp the dog tags. Diego blows out a breath of frustration.

“You can’t have meant it literally. I bumped into your skinny ass far too often over the years when you landed yourself in deep shit _again_ , even though you usually scurried off before I could drag you back home with me. What the hell were you doing in a vet bar?”

“Dragged to a creepy basement by a man wearing knives,” Klaus says, when he finds his voice. “God, what was I thinking? It’s the BDSM dream every girl can only dream of.”

“I don’t know if you remember, but you told Five to go, you know? To save himself. What would make you say that?”

“Diego, _I’m fi-_ ”

“If you say you’re fine, I’m going to hit you, head injury or not. You’re pushing me to the brink.”

“Well, that’s clearly not that hard to do,” Klaus sniffs obnoxiously, remembering the way Diego had snarled at Five “ _Too busy being a fuck-up for forty years-”_

There’s a tense silence, and Klaus feels something in his chest twist unpleasantly at the hurt that flashes across Diego’s face, before his expression shutters and closes down. Diego stands abruptly, collects his things, and strides to the door. He stops with a hand resting on the doorknob, his back to Klaus. “Come and find me when you’re ready to talk. I honestly don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you sometimes, it’s like you want to be left alone to self-destruct.”

The door shuts quietly behind him, which is somehow worse than if he’d just slammed the damn thing. Klaus stares at the old peeling paint with guilt churning sickly in his stomach. The world has obviously twisted itself inside out when he wasn’t looking; Diego promoting _emotional maturity._

Ben huffs angrily. _“He was just trying to help you.”_

Klaus groans, falling back against the bed, and pulling the pillow over his head. “I’m too tired to deal with your sad disappointed ghost face, please kindly go haunt someone else for a change,” He muffles against the fabric. The ghost shrieks again from the hallway, reaching an octave probably previously undiscovered by man, and he winces as it sends the pounding in his head to new heights.

 _“And who’s fault is that?”_ Ben says snidely. _“Diego’s right. You try and push everyone away so you’re left alone, feeling justified in hurting yourself. If you’d only just **talk to them** -”_

Klaus flops on to his stomach, and decides to just ignore him. He’ll have to get bored eventually.

* * *

_“You’re being pathetic.”_

Klaus scowls, and burrows his head further under the duvet. The fabric catches on his stitches, and he bites the inside of his cheek at the sharp sting.

_“Completely childish.”_

He pulls the duvet up so it completely covers his head. He hears an aggravated grinding of teeth from outside his cocoon. 

_“You can’t hide away forever, you know. You’re going to have to face them eventually.”_

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath in, and then exhales out slowly through his nose. Everything still feels heavy with exhaustion, but he knows sleep is a lost cause right now. _Not that he could sleep anyway, with Ben watching his every move like the stalker he is._ He’d dozed for a bit after Diego had left, but he’d barely managed to skirt along the edge of unconsciousness before the shrieking and wailing penetrated the haze and violently dragged him back again.

_“They’re all worried about you.”_

Distantly, he hears a knocking, and a hesitant muffled “Five?” from upstairs, so Diego must have decided to seek the murder munchkin out to apologise. Brave – but stupid – man.

_“You need to eat at least. Like Five said, you’ve lost weight. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”_

Klaus squeezes his eyes closed tightly, seeing flashes of colour behind his eyelids. He ignores the pang of hunger, and the way his bladder is very much protesting his ‘remain in bed’ plan, and curls up tighter under the duvet.

_“Stop being immature, and get up.”_

…

_“Klaus.”_

…

_“Klaus.”_

…

 _“I can keep this up all day,”_ Ben warns darkly, and Klaus feels a sharp stab of irritation towards him, clenching his fists until his nails bite into his palms.

...

_“I know you can hear me.”_

He tries to drown out Ben’s voice in the cacophony of _Klaus! Klaus, please help me, please! You have to save me! It’s not fair, it’s not fair!_ and the incomprehensible mess of wails, screaming, and sobbing that’s currently blaring through the mansion, but it’s no use. His brain is too attuned to Ben’s voice, it rings out crystal clear amongst the rest.

_“Klaus.”_

…

_“ **Klaus** -”_

“For Fuck’s sake, Ben!” He snarls, violently throwing off the duvet so it lands somewhere on the floor, and sitting up to glare at him. Ben meets him with a furious look of his own, arms crossed tightly across his chest. “And you call me immature!”

Ben raises one eyebrow, managing to get his point across perfectly without even having to open his mouth. It reminds Klaus distinctly of Reginald, and _God_ , in this moment, Klaus thinks he might just _loathe_ him.

“I’m trying to sleep!”

Ben scoffs, looking completely unmoved. _“No, you’re not. You’re hiding.”_

Klaus hisses in pure frustration, and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at him. “Go away!”

_“No.”_

He growls.

“ _Klaus_.”

“Fuck off, Ben,” He seethes through gritted teeth. His jaw is actually aching with the pressure.

_“Do you think I enjoy nothing better than sitting here and pushing you to take care of yourself? No-”_

“Could have fooled me.”

_“- **Get up,** and take care of yourself like an adult.”_

Klaus huffs loudly and throws himself back down on the mattress, curling up in a fetal position, and pulling the pillow over his head. He’s cold, but the duvet is on the floor and he’s not going to ruin the performance by sitting back up to get it. He’ll blame the discomfort on Ben.

_“Real mature, Klaus.”_

…

_“Klaus.”_

…

**_“Klaus.”_ **

A sudden hot flare of aggravation runs through him making him dizzy, and he pushes himself off the bed, picks up his pillow, and throws it hard at Ben’s scowling face so it sails right through him and hits the wall with a thud. Annoyingly, Ben doesn’t even blink. He just raises both his eyebrows with his lips pressed tightly in a thin line, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“Don’t even think about following me,” Klaus hisses, and storms towards the door.

 _“That won’t be a problem,”_ Ben replies acidly, eyes narrowed.

It’s extremely satisfying to watch the door slam closed on Ben’s scowling face.

“You better not be in this room by the time I get back,” He snaps at the wood, hearing a sharp humourless laugh, and a _“Wasn’t planning on it,”_ from inside that sends his irritation levels sky-rocketing into the stratosphere.

Klaus pivots away angrily, about to start down the corridor, when he realises, he hasn’t heard Diego come back down from the floor above. He sighs, unable to ignore the guilt still rolling around in his gut, and heads upstairs instead. The last thing he needs is two ghostly mother hens clucking at him disapprovingly for the rest of his awful life.

He reaches the top step, and spots Diego standing with ear pressed against the wood of Five’s closed door, muscles tense, and his hand clenched tightly around the door knob. He looks ready to barge in there at a moment’s notice.

There’s a man standing close to Diego’s shoulder, one knife sticking grotesquely in his eye, and another in his throat. His intact eye swivels round to look at Klaus on his arrival, and he makes a choked gurgling sound, blood and saliva spilling out of his mouth and running down his chin. Klaus wrinkles his nose at him, and turns his head firmly in Diego’s direction.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, mon frère.”

Diego peels his gaze from the door to glare at him. He puts a finger to his lips.

Klaus smirks, irritation fading in favour of amusement. He leans against the creaky bannister, and pretends not to notice Diego’s eye twitch. “You’re going to get stabbed.”

“He’s been jumping away as soon as I’ve spotted him all day. I’m only trying to talk to him,” Diego whispers, a warning in his eyes to _be quiet_ that Klaus cheerfully ignores.

“Well here’s an idea, maybe wait until he’s calmed down a bit? Less pyscho stabby-stabby, more moderately-controlled murderous urges?”

Diego pointedly looks at the door, tapping his finger against his lips.

“What are you going to do if he doesn’t show up? Play hide-and-seek around the house?” Diego scowls, and Klaus laughs, tapping his fingers against the wooden rail. “Boy, is that going to end badly! We have, what, forty-three bedrooms alone? And he’s an assassin, a literal teleporting tiny killing machine! Dee, I say this with love, but that’s not a game you can win.”

Diego fumes. He doesn’t move from his position at the door.

“If you die, be prepared to hear _I told you so_ … so many times.”

Diego makes a furious gesture, the meaning clearly _‘Go away!’_.

Klaus rolls his eyes, and turns to go back down the stairs. “I’m going to make sure they don’t carve _even a single knife_ on your memorial statue.”

“Klaus, _be quiet_!”

“I’m going to pawn your entire knife collection. How many cigarettes d’you think that would get me?”

Something whizzes past his left ear, and a knife embeds itself into the wall in front of him. Klaus grins and pulls it out, shouting “Starting with this one!” over his shoulder.

“Klaus, no- ** _Klaus!_** ”

He skips away, feeling much better, and goes to the bathroom to relieve his aching bladder. He hides the knife in the gap in the wall behind the sink to annoy Diego with later, and then heads down to the kitchen in search of coffee and something sugary. He’s cautious throughout the perilous journey, on the lookout for any other family members waiting for the chance to accost him, but the corridors seem empty of the living for now.

Klaus thinks his day might just be looking up, when he reaches the doorway to the kitchen to find Luther sat stiffly at the table, hands wrapped around a coffee mug, staring into the liquid with a troubled look on his face. Klaus briefly considers turning back around and going straight back upstairs, but the smell of coffee proves very enticing, and with a sigh, he stumbles into the kitchen.

Luther’s head snaps up, and Klaus sends him a little wave as he goes to find a clean mug. He’s deciding between the moon cup that he’d bought Luther as a joke _(he hadn’t appreciated it)_ , and the boring Umbrella Academy themed one that Pogo must’ve saved from the memorabilia clear out, when Luther clears his throat awkwardly behind him. Klaus rolls his eyes skyward, and turns around.

Luther pushes a box of doughnuts across the table towards him. “Allison and I went out this morning to get treats for everyone. The girls are out at the moment; they’ve gone to pick up some music sheets for Vanya’s rehearsals next week. We saved you some of your favourites.”

Klaus stares at the box sat innocently on the table, and then narrows his eyes at Luther, who shifts guiltily in his chair. “I didn’t know you could be so devious Number One. I’m impressed.”

It’s almost endearing how flustered Luther looks at his plan being derailed so quickly. ”What? No- Klaus, what are you talking about? They’re just doughnuts.”

“Nope,” Klaus chirps, turning around and reaching for the warm coffee pot. “They’re bait, with the intention of luring seemingly naïve, innocent me into sitting down to have a nice breakfast with you-”

“It’s two-thirty in the afternoon-”

“-and then BAM!” Luther jumps satisfyingly when Klaus slams the coffee pot back down on the counter, and turns to face him. “-It will be like the Spanish inquisition. You’re well on your way to becoming the rehab therapist you’ve always dreamed you’d be-”

“I only looked up that stuff so I could help!” Luther splutters, turning red.

“-But I’ve been playing this game for too long Luther, I’m a pro.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, and smiles brightly at him.

“Look, Klaus, just take a doughnut and sit down,” Luther sighs, rubbing his forehead. “I just want to make sure you’re ok.”

“Oh, I’m fine Luther, loving life. Everything’s swell,” He sing-songs, and skips over to the table, snatching up the whole box of remaining doughnuts. He then balances his cup of coffee precariously on top of it, wincing as the box dips slightly and some of the coffee splashes on his hand. “How are you doing on this fine day?”

“What? I’m fine. But Klaus, you didn’t seem ok last night. Clearly something’s happened. You can talk to me-”

Klaus tsks, and nods his head at Luther’s hands gripping the mug, feeling nauseous as his head throbs. “Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah. Those knuckles are looking awfully raw. What have you been up to?”

“Nothing, just boxing practice. Klaus, what’s going on? I only want to help.”

“Do we have reinforced punching bag’s strong enough for you to practice boxing? I overheard a little birdie say we didn’t. You must have been hitting something pretty hard to leave all those lovely marks.”

Luther blanches. The cup makes a cracking sound, and he lets go of it quickly, putting his hands under the table out of view.

_Ding, ding, ding._

Klaus had overheard an interesting conversation between Luther and Pogo the other day, when he’d been smoking in the courtyard. Luther had been lamenting that they didn’t have any equipment strong enough for him to train with since he’d gone through _the change_. Klaus had found this decidedly suspicious, given that Ben has seen Luther leave his room late at night, and return in the early hours with fresh bruising over his knuckles, all without leaving the house.

Luther seems to regain his bearings, and frowns unhappily at him. “I don’t know what you’re implying-”

“I’m not implying anything!” Klaus says innocently, but glances pointedly to where he’s hiding his hands. “What would I be implying?”

“That I-” Luther stops himself abruptly, clenching his jaw.

Klaus tilts his head. “That you what?”

“Nothing. Forget it,” He snaps, and Klaus catches how his gaze flickers to the door once.

“Sure thing, mein Bruder,” He winks, lying through his teeth. “Hey, did you know Diego’s currently standing outside little Five’s room, waiting to ambush him? Ha! The idiot’s going to get stabbed!”

“What?” Luther says, looking alarmed, eyes flickering again to the door.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be fine. It’s Five version of a tap on the wrist after all! I’m sure the menace will be generous enough to miss any major arteries,” He waves a dismissive hand, and watches in satisfaction as Luther’s face pales. “Any-who, this has been great. You’re fine, I’m fabulous, so it looks like everything’s good. You’ve got a brother to yell at, and I need to be on my merry way. Doughnuts to eat, coffee to inhale, ghostie’s to ignore, a Ben to disappoint. Busy day, you know?”

Luther takes a deep breath, but surprisingly doesn’t get up to leave, instead he turns away from the door and settles his gaze determinedly on Klaus. “No, Klaus. I know what you’re doing. Look we should really talk about what happened last night. Whatever happened during special training, you can tell us, ok?”

Klaus grins, feeling uneasy. “Don’t get your panties all in a bunch Number One, it was just a blip. I was too tired, nothing more to say. Now if you’ll excuse moi-”

“You were _terrified_. You’re honestly going to tell me we wouldn’t find anything if we looked at those tapes?”

“Look Lu, don’t worry, it’s not going to happen again. It won’t even affect _the precious team,_ I’ll pinkie swear-”

“I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about _you._ ”

Klaus gasps dramatically. “Blasphemy! Be careful there Luther, Dad might just come back from beyond the grave if he hears his _precious Number One_ talking about feelings! That was almost sensitive! _”_

Luther huffs, face pinched, and opens his mouth to say something, when there’s the sudden sound of a door violently banging against a wall, and shouting voices coming from upstairs. Luther’s already out of his chair and halfway to the door before Klaus even has the time to blink. He stops briefly at the doorway, turning back with a stern look. “We’ll continue this conversation later.”

“Oh gosh, I can’t wait!”

Luther rolls his eyes, and then storms out of the kitchen, shouting as he goes, “ **Diego!** **_What the hell_** **do you think you’re doing! We talked about this! Five, for God’s sake,** **_act your age!_** ” Klaus can hear his heavy footsteps running up the stairs and becoming more distant. The shouting upstairs becomes louder two minutes later.

Klaus quickly leaves the kitchen before anything else can make the day even worse, and walks upstairs with his goods. He’s about to walk down the hallway to his bedroom, when his eyes catch a glimpse of the little ghost girl jumping around as if she’s playing hopscotch on the other side of the landing area, right in front of the corridor leading to Dad’s rooms, _and the_ _surveillance room._

Before he’s even consciously made the decision, he’s changing direction, walking hastily to the other side of the landing, and slipping past the girl into the gloomy corridor. He strains his ears as he walks, hearing three distinct raised voices upstairs, and no tapping canes or clicking heels nearby.

He reaches the surveillance room, and sends a quick prayer to the little girl upstairs that there's no one inside. He holds the doughnut box between his chest and his left arm, careful not to spill the coffee, and uses his right hand to twist open the door. He takes a cautious step inside, breathes a sigh of relief when it's empty, and sets the box down on the desk. He then closes the door softly behind him.

He turns to face the large cabinet full to the brim of DVD’s, and grimaces. It’ll be a miracle if he finds what he’s looking for before someone finds him. He opens the door with a sigh, and squints at the small handwriting on the cases, brightening considerably when he notices Pogo has blessedly ordered them by their Numbers.

He picks through the dusty cases until he finds one, Pogo’s neat handwriting on the front titling it _‘Number Four – Individual specialised training 1995’._ He stares down at it, fingers pressing into the plastic, making it creak in protest. He would have been six years old in these videos; a frightened, helpless child who had no way of controlling his powers.

He exhales harshly, opens the case, and plucks out the DVD. He then repeats this with the next one he finds, and the next, and the next, until miraculously, he’s managed to find the full set covering years 1995-2003, his last trip to the Mausoleum being just prior to his fourteenth birthday. He places the empty cases back in the cabinet, throws the discs inside the doughnut box, and then hurries back to his room, where thankfully, true to his word, Ben has gone.

He sets the coffee down, flings the box on the bed, and kicks the door shut. He then sits on the floor, hastily picks out the first DVD from the box, and immediately snaps it in two, feeling a vindictive pleasure at the act. He breaks it into tiny sharp pieces, and then picks up the next one and does the same.

He hesitates briefly when he comes to the disc labelled 2003, sliding his thumbs across the disc and wondering if Dad had kept the footage of his thirteen-year-old son getting tortured by a group of sadistic spirits _for research_. He frowns, decides he doesn’t want to know, and snaps that one too.

Once the discs are merely glittering, tiny pieces of plastic, he cups them in his hands and throws them onto the floor of his wardrobe, slamming the doors closed. He takes a moment to breathe, surprised to find his hands are trembling.

He doesn’t feel any lighter.

A ghost wails.

The man in the corner won’t stop weeping.

There are footsteps coming from down the hall that he knows don’t belong to the living.

Luther is shouting upstairs. Diego is shouting back. He can’t hear Five’s biting tone anymore.

He pushes away from the wardrobe, plucks a glazed chocolate doughnut from the box, and strides out the door. He walks down the hallway, takes a bite of his doughnut, and rolls his eyes at the shouting match that is definitely in full-swing upstairs.

Time to figure out what Number One has been up to after dark.

* * *

Klaus exhales, watching the smoke curl up in the air from the cigarette. Ben’s statue is cold and damp against his shoulder, and there’s a chill in the air that he knows to blame the dead for, rather than mother nature.

He shivers, and scans the shadows in yard a bit nervously, tracking the wandering spirits. He doesn’t usually come to stand in the courtyard at night without Ben; but his brother had _tsked_ , shook his head in disappointment, and stormed away after watching Klaus’s earlier conversation with Allison and Vanya.

His sisters had come straight to his room when they’d got back to the house earlier in the evening. He’d been sat knitting when they’d walked in. Vanya had settled beside him on the bed, whilst Allison had knelt on the floor, and dragged his hand down so she could paint his nails, tutting at the state of them.

They’d tried to talk to him about last night, but he’d deflected, deflected, and deflected again until Allison had looked ready to throttle him. Vanya had sat quietly, brown eyes perceptive and concerned as she’d watched him. Eventually Allison had sighed, gently squeezed his hand, and said, _“You know we’re here when you’re ready to talk, right? You don’t have to deal with anything on your own,”_ and he’d smiled tightly at her, and squeezed her hand back. _“I know Ally. Oh, by the way did you hear Five stabbed Diego today? Hah! - well it’s more a graze to his arm, really. I’d told him that it was a bad idea to barge in on Five, but nope, no one ever listens to little old me. Diego’s in a right paddy now because Five won’t be his BFF, and then he and Luther had an argument-”_

Vanya had stayed behind as Allison had let out a long-suffering sigh and left the room, muttering something about _boys_. Ben had got up and followed her, scowling. Once they’d left, Vanya had glanced at the arm-chair uncertainly, and asked, _“Is Ben here?”_

He’d startled a bit. _“No, he’s just left. How did you know where he was?”_

She’d laughed, and said, _“You’re usually bickering with the chair whenever I walk past your room. It’s an easy deduction to make.”_

He’d thought she was going to try to convince him to talk to her again, but she didn’t, only told him, _“I’ll listen, when you want to talk. I’m not going to pressure you; I know what that’s like,”_ with a bitter edge to her expression.

He’d instantly told her she should tell the others to back off, and she’d smiled self-deprecatingly whilst picking at a loose thread on his duvet. _“Well, I did blow up the moon and bring upon the end of days. I can sort of understand their concern.”_

 _“Eh,”_ He’d said, waving a hand in the air dismissively. _“It was a one-time thing. They should get over it and move on.”_

They’d stared at each other for a beat, and then burst into giggles. It had been nice spending time with her, comfortable, until she’d brought up **The Book** of course. _“Klaus, I’m sorry. About the book. I shouldn’t have said those things about you. I was wrong.”_

He’d shrugged, and told her it was fine, “ _I am a self-professed attention whore. Plus, it made for a great session in group therapy. They even let me read my chapter out to the group when they realised, I was **The** Klaus Hargreeves. I felt like a real celebrity!”_

He remembers stealing a copy of the book when he’d spotted it in a corner bookstore window. He’d huddled in some alcove away from the rain, and thumbed through the damp pages with trembling, dirty fingers as Ben had read over his shoulder; feeling sick that his fucked-up life was now immortalised as ink on paper for someone’s entertainment. Ben had been _angry_ , possibly the most furious Klaus had ever seen him, but Vanya had only written nice things in his chapter.

The week immediately following the release of the book was an absolute blur. Klaus had gone on a truly _phenomenal_ bender; One last hurrah in case dear old Dad read the blasted thing, remembered Klaus was souring the family name on the streets, and hunted him down to drag him back to the academy. The police had found him instead, momentously fucked-up on the floor of some alley, and Klaus had been forced into rehab for the _hundredth time_.

“Master Klaus?”

He jumps, startled, and whirls round. Pogo stands behind him, face just visible in the light coming from the house.

“Oh, hey, Pogo,” He says, relieved, trying to will his racing heart to slow the fuck down.

Pogo stares at him critically, peering at him over his glasses, with his hands folded neatly over the top of his cane. Klaus knows _that look_ , became intimately familiar with it during his teenage years, more than all of his siblings combined. His heart sinks, but he plasters a careless smirk on his face, crosses his legs, and leans against the statue again. “Come to berate me too?”

Pogo doesn’t look impressed. “And what, exactly, would I be berating you for?”

Klaus scoffs, and waves a hand. “Don’t play dumb, Pogo. _Yo_ _u know what_.”

He can only pray that Pogo has come to reprimand him for not speaking to his sib’s, and that he hasn’t yet discovered the empty DVD cases in his sacred cabinet.

“I heard about what occurred yesterday evening.”

“Did you now?”

“Your siblings are concerned about you.”

Klaus shrugs disinterestedly, taking a drag of the cigarette. Pogo frowns, “Master Luther-”

“Thinks the ghosts are a joke, did you know?” He interrupts, lips twitching into a bitter smile. “Thinks they look like _normal people_ , that it would be _interesting_ to talk to the ones trapped in that stinking graveyard. They all think I can _banish them_.”

Pogo’s frown becomes deeper, expression remaining admonishing and unsympathetic. “From what I’ve heard, it seems as if you don’t want them to know the truth. Your siblings have been trying to speak with you, and all you’ve done is push them away.”

“God, it’s like you and Ben are the same person,” He exhales the smoke into the air, and makes a face at the man with the head wound, who is staring longingly at him by the back door. “Full of bad ideas.”

Pogo sighs disappointedly, and Klaus tries to bite back his irritation. “If you would only speak with them-”

“Like I said to Ben, they’d think I was being dramatic-”

“Do not pretend to me that this excuse is your only reason. Like I’ve said to you before, I know you far too well.”

“God, I can’t deal with you today,” He puts a hand over his face, and talks into his palm. “No, you know what? _I’m not_.”

“Tough,” Pogo says sternly, and Klaus drops his hand in surprise. “It’s about time you talked to someone.”

Klaus sneers at him. “You can’t make me.”

Pogo’s eyes narrow dangerously, and his hands tighten around the cane. “You are hurting yourself, _and I. will. Not. Have. it_. Your family are trying to help you-”

“They can’t! They can’t help me!” He exclaims, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I just have to live with the ghosts, that’s how my life is! How it’s always been!”

“They may be able to help you understand your powers, and find a way to control them. Master Five has been helping Miss Vanya, has he not?”

“No, no-just no. Pogo, this conversation is over.”

“Being frightened of your powers will not help you in the long-run. Look at what happened to Miss Vanya, to Master Ben-”

“Yeah, and _whose fault_ is that, exactly?”

Pogo’s nostrils flare. “You will not succeed in pushing me away by hurting me, Master Klaus. So, if that is your intention, I suggest you try another tactic.”

Klaus feels stricken. “God, Pogo. I- Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

Pogo waves away his apology, gaze intense. “You need to speak with them.”

“I _can’t,_ ” He groans, tipping his head back against the statue. The frustration is crawling up is his throat, and he can taste the bitterness bursting on his tongue.

“And why not?”

Klaus tightens his free hand into a fist, and remains silent. He clenches his jaw, and glares up at the sky, barely even seeing the stars blinking back at him. He hears Pogo’s cane scrape harshly across the stone. “I asked you a question, Master Klaus. _Why not_?”

It’s like a bomb goes off in his chest.

“For God’s sake, _why do you think?_ ” He shouts, pushing away from the statue and gesturing angrily at the house. “Would you want your siblings to know that each and every one of them has a whole entourage of the dead watching their every move? That the ghosts are constantly sobbing in pain or crying out for their blood? _Shit_ , do you want Five to know that literally _hundreds_ of his victims haven’t moved on, and despite the fact they’re _dead_ , they are still utterly terrified of him?”

If Pogo is shocked by his outburst, he doesn’t show it. The lines of his face soften, becoming gentle. “Klaus-”

He runs a hand through his hair in agitation, feeling the anger burning hotly in his bones. “Would you want Vanya to know about the nannies with the snapped necks that want to tear her throat out, Pogo? Or Diego to know there’s a woman who follows him around, clothes ripped to pieces and throat slit, and she _blames him_ for not being quick enough to save her from being raped and murdered? Because fuck, I don’t. **_Absolutely not_**.”

He shakes his head roughly, vibrating in his own skin. “- And even if I did tell them, and they did believe me, can you not see what a monumentally bad idea it would be for them to try and help me? With all the murderous ghosties following them around? God, what if I made them corporal? What if I couldn’t stop them from-” He snaps his mouth shut with a sharp click of teeth, and he turns his head away hastily, appalled to find his vision is blurred with tears.

“What if you couldn’t stop the ghosts from hurting them, like they hurt you,” Pogo finishes quietly.

Klaus grinds his teeth together, breathing out harshly through his nose. “I am **_not_** talking about that.”

“Ah,” Pogo says, and there’s realisation breaking upon his face when Klaus turns back to look at him. “The flashback was about the Mausoleum.”

The anger shrivels away suddenly, leaving panic to slide in and tighten its greedy fingers around his windpipe. “You can’t tell them. Pogo, they can’t know about the Mausoleum. _Promise me._ ”

Pogo looks at him sadly. “I believe it would really help-”

“No. No, Pogo,” He rasps desperately. His chest feels far too tight, and his heart is beating frantically inside his chest. “Please, you can’t tell them. They can’t know. Not ever.”

Pogo stares at him for a moment, before he tips his head in reluctant agreement. Klaus lets his shoulders slump in relief. “I won’t tell them,” Pogo says heavily. “It is not my place, nor my story to tell. But I wish you would consider it, dear boy.”

Klaus shakes his head violently, and Pogo sighs. They stand in solemn silence, only broken by their breathing, the sounds of the city on the other side of the wall, and the paranoid mutterings of one of the ghosts behind him. _Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. They’re coming, I know they are, they’re watching, they’re watching. They’re here. I can see them. They want death. They want him._

Pogo clears his throat. “I would like to say to you, that I am truly sorry for what you went through as a child. I am sorry for what happened to you. I may never forgive myself.”

Klaus blinks against the sting in his eyes. “The last time- The last trip there, did you know what was happening? Did Dad know?”

“No,” Pogo answers immediately, looking aghast that Klaus would even suggest the possibility. “As soon as the door opened, and he saw you- I don’t know if you remember much of that night Master Klaus, but your father rushed inside without a second thought. He held you in his arms the entire journey back to the infirmary.”

Klaus scrunches his face up, feeling the anger threatening to rise up again. “Don’t pretend he loved me Pogo, that he loved any of us. He’d have been worried he was about to lose one of his precious experiments, nothing more.”

Pogo hesitates. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I do believe he loved you, all of you, in his own way. He made many wrong choices, I see that now, but the Mausoleum was never intended as a punishment. It was supposed to help you; be a place for you to conquer your fears and develop your powers.”

Klaus feels a tug in his mid-section, and looks over to see Ben appearing by the back door. He has his arms crossed, and he’s predictably frowning. Klaus suddenly feels drained, and all of the fight leeches out of him.

“You’re right,” Klaus says apathetically, lifting the cigarette to his lips for one last drag, and then shrugging at Pogo. “I don’t want to hear it.”

He drops the cigarette on the ground, crushes it under his boot, and then walks towards the door. As he steps inside, already trading sarcastic remarks with Ben, he catches a glimpse of Pogo stood alone in the dark courtyard, hunched over his cane, and his head bowed.

Klaus pushes down the guilt, and walks away.

* * *

There’s an awful atmosphere in the house. The air feels so tense, Klaus is almost convinced he could grab hold of it in his hands, bend it, and snap it in two, the laws of physics be damned.

He takes a deep breath of the morning air, feeling the wind ruffle the unruly curls on his forehead, and squints at the way the light refracts off the city skyscrapers. It’s been an intense few days, that’s for sure.

His siblings have been in one word, _overbearing_. They obviously think they’re being subtle; a quick meeting of eyes over the top of his head, whispered conversations that stop abruptly when he enters the room, frustrated glances at the dinner table. He’s not stupid, he knows they’re heading full-speed ahead towards another family meeting, but he’d rather delay the inevitable shit-show for as long as possible.

Hiding from Five has also been giving him palpitations. He’s the only one of them whom Klaus hasn’t suffered through an attempted heart-to-heart with yet, mainly because he’s been avoiding the old man like he has the bubonic plague. He has a nervous feeling that his ability to talk in circles won’t hold up against Five’s sharp gaze, and his utterly unwavering determination. Plus, Five knows about the time-travel, and he’d noticed the dog tags; Klaus sincerely doubts Five is going to let this go.

Admittedly, his method for avoiding Five isn’t great, but there’s only so much he could do when he can’t leave the house freely. He’s therefore attached himself like a limpet to Diego during daylight hours, hoping Five’s pride will win out over his concern.

Five could confront him at night of course, when Klaus is _supposed_ to be sleeping, but he’s seen himself in the mirror, and he thinks the heavily sleep-deprived, slightly crazed look he’s rocking is the reason he hasn’t done so _yet_. This is good, as Klaus enjoys his organs being where they are, and he can’t imagine Five being very happy if he had any inkling that Klaus was skipping about, _casual-as-you-please,_ around the city alone at night.

The only time he’d even seen Five in the last week, was yesterday at dinner. He knows Five only turned up at all because Luther had shouted furiously at him earlier that day, as Klaus had listened gleefully a safe distance away on Diego’s bedroom floor - “ _How would we even know if you’d been kidnapped? If anything had happened to you? For God’s sake, Five! I thought you were supposed to be fifty-eight, but you’re acting like a moody teenager!”_ – and everyone knows Five can’t resist the opportunity to be a _little shit_.

He’d appeared in a flash of blue in the kitchen as they were passing the salad bowl around, shocking Allison so much she dropped it on the floor with a muttered curse. Five had smirked, ignored Diego’s spluttering, and sarcastically saluted a red-faced Luther, _“Number Five, still alive and kicking,”_ He’d then picked up his plate from the table, and fucked-off to who knows where. Although, not before turning to Klaus and glaring darkly at him, indicating he knows exactly what Klaus is up to, he’s _not_ impressed, and that Klaus’s days are numbered.

_“You’re going to be late. We’re meant to be going with Vanya to rehearsal today.”_

Klaus turns to Ben just in time to see a harassed-looking lady in a pantsuit rush right through him on the sidewalk, talking a mile-a-minute on her phone. He snickers as Ben scowls, and glances back at her. “Relax, Benji. The academy is just around this corner.”

_“And what’s your great plan to get inside? Not everyone sleeps until noon, you know.”_

They reach the end of the street, and walk around the corner. They stop a few steps later, forcing a few pedestrians to tut and walk around them, _well, around Klaus at least_ , as Klaus stares apprehensively at the outline of the academy.

Ben had told him, repeatedly, to head back hours ago as daylight had started to break through the clouds. Klaus isn’t usually out this late, but last night had been so bad, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to leave the streets as the sun had started to rise.

If dreaming about Dave bleeding out in his arms wasn’t enough, he’d also had a terrible nightmare about little Number Five stuck in an apocalyptic wasteland. His small hands had been scraped and bloody as he’d tried to push rubble off their broken bodies, and ash had fallen from the sky like snow, settling in Five’s dark hair and on the shoulders of his blazer. Five had only shivered and continued on with his grim task, eyes red, and tears running silently down his cheeks.

It had felt so vivid; the smell of smoke and dust, the loud crackle of fires, and the vibrations that had rocked the earth beneath his feet as buildings tumbled to the ground, sending large plumes of dust into the air on the horizon. Five had looked so young and heartbroken _._ He’d even dreamed up Dolores sat sadly watching Five from a red wheeled pull-along kart.

God, his brain sucked.

“We’ll have to go through the front door. The downstairs windows will all be locked, and there’s no chance murder-boy isn’t up by now. I’d rather not be hung from the fire escape by my intestines before noon.”

A man gives him an odd look as he passes, and Klaus smiles widely at him, all-teeth.

_“That’s your plan? Just walk through the front door and hope no one see’s you?”_

“No,” He turns to Ben with a tired grin. “You’re going to scout the foyer for me to make sure no one’s there.”

Ben raises his eyebrows. _“You didn’t seem to need me around when you **left the academy without me** , and then said, and I’ll quote, ‘God Ben, clingy much? I don’t need a babysitter or your ghostly advice, please kindly fuck off and go stalk someone who wants it’, does that sound familiar?”_

Klaus winces, and sends an apologetic look at Ben. He doesn’t look terribly impressed.

“Well times change Benarino, and I could really do with that ghostly help right now. So, if you could just walk in there, and let me know if the coast is clear, you would be my best ghost friend forever.”

Ben folds his arms across his chest, and just looks at him.

“You can be a real fucking sensitive bitch when you want to be, you know that?” Klaus snaps. He grits his teeth, thinks _fuck it_ , and strides down the sidewalk.

He reaches the gates, and cautiously pushes them open. He cringes at the loud creak it makes despite his best efforts, and glance’s furtively at the windows. “Anytime you want to be useful Ben, please feel free to help out,” He mutters sourly under his breath, scowling.

He quietly ascends the steps to the academy, and comes to the next hurdle: the large, imposing, _and very loud_ , front door. He gives Ben one last pleading look, but the prick just smirks at him, and walks straight through to the other side.

He takes a deep breath, and then twists the handle. Ben suddenly appears at his side, panic on his face, “ _No, Klaus, stop! Don’t open-”,_ but it’s too late, and Klaus already has one foot inside when his shocked gaze meet’s Vanya’s as she walks down the main staircase. Her steps stop midway down, and she frowns at him, violin case and car keys in hand.

 _“-the door,”_ Ben finishes with a sigh.

Klaus can’t think of any other time in his thirty years of life he’s ever wished, quite this intensely, that he could punch a ghost in the face.

“Klaus?” She asks, eyes flickering between him and the open door. “What are you doing? Have you been outside?”

“No!” He denies, realising how stupid it is as he says it. Sure enough, Vanya’s eyes narrow in suspicion. Ben gives him a wide-eyed look beside him, but whatever, as if he could do any better on two hours sleep. “Well yes, but don’t worry, Vee. I only stepped out for a mo’. Just needed some fresh air.”

She stares at him. “And you didn’t just go to the courtyard?”

“Er, no,” He says, rolling on the balls of his feet. He spots Beady Eyes come into view on the landing upstairs, baring her teeth at the two of them over the banister. “The courtyard was a bit too crowded, you know? A tad loud.”

Vanya’s suspicion fades into something more sympathetic, and she continues down the staircase towards him. “Oh. Couldn’t you tell them to leave you alone? Banish them for a while?”

“Too many,” He answers, shrugging. Ben sighs.

“Right,” She looks out of her depth as she steps onto the foyer floor. “Well, I won’t tell the others if you don’t. I’d be careful though Klaus, if Five spots you outside the academy on your own-”

“He’d hang, draw, and quarter me?”

“-You’d be in trouble.” She finishes, lips twitching in amusement.

“He has been a paranoid little leprechaun recently, hasn’t he?”

“He’s worried,” She corrects him. “You ready to go?”

“Well you’d know,” He says, nodding, and following her back out the front door. “You’re the family Five whisperer.”

“I am not!” She laughs, as they descend the steps and step out on to the sidewalk, walking towards her parked car.

“Vanya, you absolutely are. There’re two roles you’ve acquired in this family. One is being the absolute badass who blew up the moon, and the second is the Five whisperer. There’s no role switching, no takesie backsies, that’s just who you are now.”

“Oh?” She says, a wide grin on her face as she opens the boot and puts her violin case inside. She then opens the driver’s door, and Klaus jumps into the passenger seat. Ben appears in the back. “And what are your roles then?”

“Being the family joy of course! I don’t need any more roles than that. Plus, I’m surprised you even had to ask Vanya, that’s hurtful. Am I not doing a good enough job?”

Of course, you are,” She assures him. “I’m sorry I had to ask, that was stupid. Forgive me.”

“I’ll forgive you,” He pauses, lips twitching. “If you buy me a coffee and a jam doughnut from the vendor outside the theatre. Those things are _divine._ ”

“Haven’t you already had breakfast?” She asks, checking her mirrors before pulling out into the morning rush-hour traffic.

“You can never have too much breakfast Vanya,” Klaus tells her solemnly. “Especially if breakfast is doughnuts or waffles.”

“Fine,” She snorts. “Coffee and a doughnut in exchange for forgiveness, is that a deal?”

“Deal.”

 _“Always lands on his feet,”_ Ben mutters in the back. _“Like a damned cat.”_

Klaus smiles charmingly at him in the rear-view mirror, before messing with the radio, and imitating the presenters to see how many times he can make Vanya laugh on the way to the theatre.

It’s nice.

* * *

The theatre is not nice.

The music is nice, the music is _amazing,_ and the décor is dated, but in that classic sort of way, so no issues there. It’s the ghosties that are the problem, and they are slowly, and agonisingly, driving him irrevocably insane.

He’s been fighting the urge to move again for the past two hours, because not only has moving proved to be fucking useless, he also knows that whilst Allison may have rumoured the entirety of the orchestra not to question why Vanya’s family are suddenly hanging around like a bunch of stalkers, they’d be sure to notice him popping up and down around the room as if he’s playing a sad game of musical chairs by himself.

There’s an old man with a single bullet hole between his eyes, who keeps walking in frantic circles not five metres from him, mumbling frantically in Italian about someone called Maria, Jim the dog, and some thug who shot him and stole his wallet. He likes to spice it up by letting out the occasional sudden shrill scream, and running at Klaus, _and through him_ , in a rage as if he’d personally caused the old fool’s death.

Then there’s Bus Lady. He’s named her this because she keeps muttering about bus times, and from the absolute state of her it’s plausible to assume she’d been run over by a few of the damned things in quick succession. Even Ben had winced when he’d spotted her, and he’s usually indifferent to the gore now. She keeps stumbling over to him to ask when the next bus will be, bones grinding horribly against each other as she does, and sharp edges poking in and out of her skin sickeningly.

There’s an elegant looking middle-aged lady wearing an expensive looking fur coat, heels, and a pearl necklace around her neck. She hasn’t stopped crying and pleading desperately with him to help her. If he doesn’t meet her gaze for too long, she pushes her face right into his, and screeches at him, throwing her ghostly fists through his shoulders before falling to the floor in a sobbing mess. There’s a large laceration on her left temple, and her ear is covered in blood.

Then there’s the one who’s been bothering him the most. Klaus has called him Pervert Joe. He’s about eighty, has ugly wide-framed glasses on, and keeps leering at him from a few seats in front, calling him ‘Pretty boy,’ and asking how much a quick blow job in the alley outside will cost him. _Rude._ He’s praying that he doesn’t follow him home; it’s bad enough bathing with an uncaring audience, never mind adding a voyeur into the mix.

That’s not all of them of course, but the others are just crying and walking aimlessly around the room, so they don’t bother him too much. It seems like he’s being a very bright ghost beacon today though, and he’s attracting all the dead from all around the block.

He’s been trying his hardest to focus on Vanya, watching snippets of her playing in between the figures walking in front of him, around him, and through him. She looks breathtaking on stage; outer-worldly and powerful. There’s a subtle silver sheen to her skin, and even from here, he can see that her eyes are shining. She’s an obvious master of her trade, manipulating the strings expertly to create the most beautiful of sounds. He knows that if it wasn’t for the ghosties _, that are really getting on his last freaking nerve,_ he would be utterly transfixed.

“Excuse me, _Sir_?”

He looks up to see an elderly lady peering down at him sternly over her spectacles. She’s got a harsh, sharp face that reminds him distinctly of the librarian that would take great pleasure in chasing him out of the Argyle library in winter whenever she’d find him trying to hide under the bookshelves for somewhere to stay for the night. It had only happened a few times, on the rare occasions he hadn’t been able to find someone to seduce into letting him stay in their bed for the night, but he holds a grudge regardless. _Frostbite hurt._

“Yes?” He snaps, probably too harshly considering this lady is a stranger.

The lady scowls at his tone, and looks at him sourly like he’s worse than the dirt on the bottom of her ugly beige kitten-heeled shoes. She presses her hands on her hips, over the atrocious thick purple cardigan she obviously thinks pairs well with the dark green ankle-length skirt, and glares at him. She has a badge on her chest that says her name is Maureen, and she works as a theatre manager.

“If you would be so kind, young man, as to remove your feet from the chair in front of you, and keep them firmly on the ground. This is a theatre, not a place for the common riff-raff.”

He raises his eyebrows at her, then ever so slowly, lifts his feet from where they were crossed on the back of the chair in front of him, and lets them fall with an obnoxious bang to the floor. “Happy?” He asks sarcastically.

Maureen huffs, and hobbles her way down towards the stage, probably to complain about him to some other staff member. She stands in front of the stage, looking up, when another worker comes in with a cleaning trolley. The worker is looking down at his phone in his free hand, not realising she’s stood there and he’s heading straight for her. Klaus is about to call out in warning, because he might not like the bitch but he’s still not an asshole, when she turns and walks right through the poor guy. The man shivers slightly, but doesn’t unglue his eyes from his phone.

Klaus stares for a second, then turns slowly to look at Ben. “You couldn’t have told me?”

Ben smiles smugly at him. _“No, you don’t need my help after all.”_

Honestly, he’s had it with the ghosts today, including Ben.

* * *

It’s late when they get back to the academy, and they’ missed dinner, but it’s fine because Klaus had convinced Vanya a trip to the diner was essential to celebrate her wonderful performance in rehearsals, and she hadn’t been able to refuse him.

“I can’t believe you’ve never danced with anyone, Vanya!”

She closes the front door behind them, and laughs at the kicked-puppy expression on his face. Ben rolls his eyes and continues past him and up the stairs, probably to go and find Five, wherever it is he’s hiding. Ben’s being a bore and won’t tell him.

“Dad never included me in your ballroom dancing lessons, remember? It was the only time I felt happy to be excluded.”

He feels a sharp bite of irritation, thinking about the Mausoleum, but he lets it float away.

“But you must have danced with someone,” He urges, grabbing hold of her hands once she sets the violin case on the floor, and spinning her quickly into the middle of the room, ignoring her frantic protests.

“No, no, no, Klaus. I’ll be terrible! I’ll end up breaking your toes!”

He spins her around again, leans her into a steep dip, and then pulls her back up and encourages her to put one hand on his shoulder. She smiles reluctantly, but he feels her warm hand settle there, and he places a hand lightly on her waist. She laughs as he starts to dance, pulling her around the foyer, and twirling her round and round whilst humming the chorus of the song Vanya had said she liked on the radio horribly off-key.

“Come on, Vee! Don’t be shy, I want _details!_ You had dances at college, right? You must have danced with someone then!”

“Who?” She asks, eyes sparkling with flecks of silver, and grinning widely. She’s a truly awful dancer, all two left-feet, but Klaus is happy enough to lead her and suffer the inevitable bruised toes.

“Why, your boyfriends of course!” He says, waggling his eyebrows and making her giggle. “Or girlfriends?”

“Le-Harold, never danced with me,” She says breathlessly, as she accidently steps on his foot _again_. “Sorry!”

Klaus stops abruptly and stares at her wide-eyed. She flushes, red creeping down her neck, and starts stammering out apologies. “Did I hurt you? God, I’m sorry, I told you I’d be terrible-”

“Vanya dear, you’re _tiny_. I promise my feet can take the abuse.”

“I am _not_ that small!” She mutters, slapping his shoulder.

“You’ve never been with anyone else?”

She blushes again, and bites her lip. Her hand tightens in his. “Um, no. The pills, they made me feel empty, and I-I just didn’t care. Plus, it wasn’t like anyone was interested in me. I was boring, nothing special-” She trails off uncomfortably, posture becoming stiff.

“Vanya, my dear sweet, sister,” Klaus coos, tightening his grip and spinning her around again when he feels her start to pull away. “You could never be boring! Your special with or without your powers.”

“Klaus!”

“It’s true, ma Soeur! Ooo, we gotta go out on the town, get you a _friend_ -”

“Nope, no. Absolutely not!” She laughs, shrieking as he lets go of her hand to wraps both his arms around her middle and lift her up in the air, spinning her around. “I am not ready for that!”

He sets her back down, and lets her pull away this time. “When you are,” He agrees.

“Am I invited?”

They both look up to see Allison watching them over the first floor bannister, a warm smile on her face.

“Absolutely! Girl’s night!”

Vanya huffs in amusement. “You know he’ll use this as an excuse to go shopping,” she warns Allison.

“My bank balance weeps already,” Allison replies dryly. “Are you busy tonight Vanya? Claire could use some help with her music homework if you’re free? She’ll be ringing in a few minutes.”

“Sure,” Vanya says, picking up her violin case back up. “I’ll be right there.” Once Allison’s footsteps disappear down the corridor, Vanya turns to face him and smiles shyly. “Thanks for coming today. I know my music isn’t really your thing.”

“Are you kidding, Vee? It was beautiful. You’re were amazing up there,” He says, feeling it sounds terribly inadequate, but she seems to glow with the praise regardless.

“Thanks, Klaus. And you know, like we spoke about before, I’m here for you whenever you’re ready to talk-”

“ _Van-ya_ ,” He whines, making a face.

She reaches out to squeeze his hand once, and then starts up the stairs towards Allison’s room.

Klaus finds himself standing alone in the foyer, watching as Vanya disappears from view. He can hear the murmuring of his sibling’s voices upstairs, the distant sound of a child’s laughter, and Mom pottering around inside the kitchen. A lonely feeling creeps up on him, and his body aches, reminding him how tired he is.

He reaches a hand up to grasp Dave’s tags, rubbing a thumb over the metal. “Dave?” He whispers quietly to the empty room, but of course there’s no response other than the echo of his own voice.

He walks into the living room, and leans back against one of the pillars. He closes his eyes and feels for the hum of power tingling in the palms of his hands, and he thinks of Dave, imagining him standing there right in front of him. He visualises the crinkle of Dave’s eyes when he laughs, the slight bump on his nose from a previous break, his sun-kissed skin, and the sharp edge of his jaw.

He thinks of Dave’s birthday evening, when Dave had tugged him into the thick of the trees on the outskirts of camp. They’d been able to just about hear _Somewhere in The Country_ playing distantly from the radio transmitter in the officer’s tent, and Dave had smiled at the sound. He remembers the feel of Dave’s large, strong hands settling low on his hips as he’d wound his own arms around Dave’s neck. If he concentrates, he can almost feel the warm length of Dave’s body against his, not an inch of space between them, and the tender kiss Dave had pressed under his right ear as they’d slow-danced to the tinny music.

_She was a lonely child, But love was all the poor girl craved, Such a shame, who’s to blame?_

He prays, and prays, and prays.

_I know you don’t like me much. I know I don’t deserve it, don’t deserve him. But, please. Please, please, please, I need him._

He opens his eyes to a lifeless room, and the portrait of his father glaring sternly down at him from the wall.

His hands haven’t even turned blue.

His eyes sting, and he presses the heels of his hands to them, choking out a breath. There’s a creaking sound, and Klaus frowns and pulls his hands away. Reginald’s portrait is hanging oddly on the wall, as if someone has rotated it to the right. He stares at it for a moment, wondering how the fuck that happened, but then decides he really doesn’t care.

He’s about to go and search out Diego, when he hears a tinkling sound from the bar. He turns, heart in his throat, expecting to find Five ready to snatch him up for an interrogation, but there’s no one there.

He’s is obviously losing his mind.

He roams his eyes over the bar, stopping to stare at bottle of vodka someone has left sat there on the counter, still three-quarters full.

His arms itch awfully, and he clenches his hands into fists. The want for alcohol is nothing really, not compared to the absolute desperation he feels for _other substances_. He glares at the bottle, and it gleams innocently back at him. He breathes harshly through his nose, and pivots on his heel, walking a few steps into the foyer.

He pauses, fingernails biting sharply into his palms.

A man sobs as he stumbles along the landing towards the stairs, _I killed her, I killed her. Oh, they’re going to get me, they’re going to get me._

The little ghost girl jumps down the stairs towards him, skipping rope trailing on the floor like always, and blood running down the side of her face from the bashed-in side of her skull. _Do you know where my Mommy is? I don’t know where she is. will you help me find her? Please help me find her!_

A large man stalks menacingly towards him, snarling, with a few familiar blades sticking out of his chest. Klaus remembers seeing the knives cut through the skin like butter, remembers the way twelve-year old Diego’s face had lit up with Dad’s praise during mission debrief for getting in some _good hits_. He remembers standing there shaking, as Dad berated him for his lack of participation during the mission. He remembers the cold chill of the man’s breath on his neck, and the whispered promises in his ear _I’ll kill you boy, I’ll tear you limb from limb, I’ll make you scream._

He turns back around and picks up the vodka.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry about the long wait (Work got hectic), but here's an extra long chapter to make up for it! Again, thanks so much for all your kudos and lovely comments! <3  
> Please note the trigger warnings in the tags, I'll be updating it as the story progresses. Rating may also go up in later chapters.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, rating has gone up to explicit!  
> Fair warning - the next couple of chapters are intense, and this chapter is super long (It didn't feel right to split it in two). Also there's probably a million and one mistakes in this chapter, with grammar/words in general, but I'll comb through it again later! (I got too sick of agonising over it, haha)
> 
> Enjoy!

Dave breathes out a whimper below him, eyes squeezed shut, and bottom lip, swollen and rouge, trapped between his teeth. His neck is extended back, throat exposed and vulnerable; the carotid pulse bounding away and just begging to be marked by lips and teeth. His golden skin is shining with sweat, and his blonde curls are sticking wetly against his forehead. There’s a warm blush on his cheeks, extending down his neck, his chest, _and lower._

He looks _desperate_.

Klaus doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything so beautiful.

They’re pressed chest-to-chest, pelvis-to-pelvis, palm-to-palm, and Dave’s long legs are bent and bracketing Klaus as he lays comfortably in-between them. He’s trapped both of Dave’s hands either side of his head, holding them down against the squeaky mattress with their fingers intertwined.

Klaus ducks his head, squeezes his fingers around Dave’s, and kisses a path from the sharp angle of Dave’s jaw to the soft corner of his mouth, tasting the salt on his skin, and feeling the prickle of light stubble under his lips. Dave’s fingers twitch and tighten, and his Adam Apple bops in his throat as he swallows thickly.

He gives Dave’s left hand one last squeeze, then let’s go, running his hand over the side of his neck, and down across the hard muscles of his chest. He rubs the pad of his thumb against Dave’s left nipple, smiling at the soft gasp, and then pinches it teasingly, rolling the peak slowly between his thumb and index finger. Dave jerks, body twitching, and groans lowly through his teeth, opening his eyes, and blinking dizzyingly up at Klaus.

“Klaus,” Dave pleads, thrusting up _gently_ against him. Their erections slide against each other, hot and slick with precum, and Klaus gasps at the sudden spike of pleasure, hips involuntarily pitching forwards before he forces himself to stop, gritting his teeth with the effort. He moves his hand down to Dave’s hipbone, holding him still, and breathes harshly through his nose until the pleasure settles again, tingling pleasantly at the base of his spine, and pooling warmly in his pelvis.

He’s kept Dave on the edge for _so long_ ; teasing him right to the brink of orgasm, and then pulling away with a smirk, the sound of Dave’s little growls of frustration music to his ears. It’s not often they get the luxury of time in a private room, even if it is in a shitty hotel with a squeaky bed, and he fully intends to use this time to see how long it takes for Dave to break _,_ and just _take what he wants._

He’s on a mission.

Dave has been treating him like glass ever since the landmine incident nearly three weeks ago. They’d been trekking cautiously around the edges of a field, when Klaus had noticed two of the new guys towards the back of the group looking agitated, and whispering furiously.

He’d glanced quickly at Dave, making sure he was too busy murmuring quietly with Sarge to notice if Klaus was up to no good, and then he’d hung back a bit, intending to eavesdrop on the argument, maybe even push in and offer some cheerful advice on how to navigate the complete shitstorm that was Vietnam… _Dave, drugs, and more drugs, but he wasn’t going to tell them that, Jesus._

One of the boys had scowled, dark eyebrows pulling together angrily, and his green eyes had shot up and met Klaus’s, and Klaus’s chest had _ached_ at the narrow-eyed glare. He’d had the same look on his face that thirteen-year old Five would have in thirty-three years’ time, seconds before he’d scoff and storm away from the dinner table, making one of the worst decisions of his life.

Klaus had allowed more people to pass by him, feeling uneasy, when the boy had suddenly huffed, tore his arm away from his friend’s reach, and stomped away… _across the field_. Klaus had reacted instinctively, recklessly deciding to follow the idiot who was striding arrogantly towards the middle of a death trap as if he wasn’t aware his very next step could be his last.

_He’d reminded him of Five._

He remembers the shouting; yells of _“Hargreeves! Phillips! Get your stupid asses back here, now!”_ , and _“Klaus, get back here! I swear to Christ Klaus, if you take another step in that direction-”_ He remembers the sound of a scuffle, a pained grunt, and _“Katz, NO! I am not running a goddamn circus!”_ and then a loud deafening bang, a sudden feeling of weightlessness, and then blinking up at Dave’s terrified face blocking out the sun, with an aching head and a tremendous pain in the right side of his chest.

He’d got away with three cracked ribs and a concussion.

The boy, and some of the other guys, hadn’t been so lucky.

But the point is, ever since the incident Dave has been _careful._ Not with his words, because _God,_ had Dave gone _truly_ _ballistic_ with him once the tired medic had determined Klaus was going to live to tell the tale, but with his hands he’d been nothing but gentle.

It’s driving Klaus _mental_.

He’s tried to persuade Dave that the ugly patchwork of green and yellow bruising isn’t as bad as it looks, _which is a lie because Christ on a salted cracker, do cracked ribs really hurt,_ but his boyfriend is nothing if not stubborn, and all that Dictator Dave has allowed so far is some quick-and-dirty hand jobs when Klaus had been _“too bratty”._

Klaus has told him he’s had worse injuries (he has), which had only succeeded in making Dave look sad. He’d told him he’s been fucked in worse conditions (also true), which made Dave’s eyes go dark and angry. He’d tried moaning about the potential risks of sexual frustration to his continued survival in an active warzone, and Dave had only raised an eyebrow, and made sure to keep at least two metres away for the rest of the day to _“- not worsen the frustration by close contact, in the interest of your continued survival.”_ He’d eventually outright begged for Dave to touch him, and the fucker had looked reluctantly amused, and gently caressed his cheekbone with a smirk when the guys weren’t looking.

So, hence plan B, use their night on leave to make Dave so frustrated he stops worrying about hurting Klaus, and actually fucks him _like Klaus wants him to._

“Please what?” Klaus asks, lifting himself up slightly so he can smile crookedly down at Dave, feeling pleased at the wrecked expression on his face.

He lets go of Dave’s hip, runs his fingertips across the contracting abdominal muscles, and curls his hand around him between them; ignoring his own neglected erection bumping against his fingers. Dave gasps, arching up a little, and he lets out a stuttering moan when Klaus drags his thumb over the thick vein on the underside.

“I’d be careful, Klaus.” Dave warns darkly once he’s caught his breath, but there’s a smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

Klaus grins, using the pad of his thumb to spread the precum over the head in small, maddening circles. “Oh really? And what are you going to do, Katz?”

Dave groans, glaring heatedly up at him, and Klaus’s grin widens. He releases Dave’s cock, lifts his thumb to his own lips, and once he’s sure he’s got Dave’s full attention, licks at the salty fluid on the pad of his thumb.

He chuckles softly as Dave’s eyes turn almost black, and he puts his hand back down to move agonisingly slowly over the shaft of Dave’s cock, twisting up towards the top in the way he knows would make Dave see stars if he was actually providing any real speed or pressure. Dave grinds his teeth together, and Klaus almost feels sorry for him. _Almost_.

“I want to _go slow_ , like this. Take my time. We’ve got _all night_ after all.”

Dave narrows his eyes. “I know what you’re doing,” He says through clenched teeth, nostrils flaring.

“Oh?” Klaus smirks, leaning back down and burying his face against Dave’s neck. He grazes the skin with his teeth, and nips over the racing pulse point. “And what is that exactly?”

“You’re trying to make me desperate,” Dave says accusingly, a choked sound escaping when Klaus gives one quick jerk of his hand before slowing again. “So I’ll be rough with you.”

Klaus hums, and bites lightly over Dave’s clavicle, feeling a pang of regret that he can’t leave any marks lest the others see. Dave’s free hand flashes quickly to his hipbone, fingertips digging in harshly, and Klaus grins victoriously against Dave’s skin. “Is it working?”

Dave huffs a laugh, and much to Klaus’s disappointment, slowly relaxes his grip on his hip, stroking the skin there soothingly. “No, _you menace_ , your ribs-”

Klaus whines in frustration, letting go of Dave’s cock, and pressing his forehead into Dave’s shoulder. “ _Dave_ , it’s been weeks-”

“You really gonna tell me that they don’t still hurt? They’re _cracked ribs_ , babe.”

“Barely even ache anymore, cross my heart and hope to die. _C’mon, Dave._ ”

Dave’s wiggles his right hand out of Klaus’s grip, and a second later Klaus feels warm fingertips run lightly down the side of his chest and over the area of bruising. “Cross your heart and hope- what? That seems a little dramatic.”

“Never mind, modern-day slang. Look, I promise I’m fine, so would you _please,_ pretty please with a cherry on top, just _fuck me_ ,” He shuffles down a few inches, rests his chin on Dave’s sternum, and peers up at him pleadingly through his lashes.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Dave murmurs, and very gently he prods at the bruising, eyes narrowing at the small flinch Klaus isn’t quick enough to hide. “I won’t hurt you. Now, _behave._ ”

Klaus snorts softly, trying to supress the shiver that runs down his spine at Dave using his ‘ _commanding voice’_ , but from the self-satisfied smirk on Dave’s lips he obviously doesn’t do a good enough job. “Fine,” He agrees, smiling sweetly, wiping the smirk right off Dave’s face. Dave didn’t explicitly say exactly how he should behave, so Klaus will take this as fair game to _behave badly_.

He presses his lips against the skin underneath him, and works slowly across towards Dave’s right nipple. He rubs small circles on the skin just shy of where Dave’s erection is curved against his abs with his right hand, and curls his left around Dave’s chest, bumping his thumb along the ribcage. Dave growls when he uses the flat of his tongue to lick slowly over the red bud, and then latches on and sucks gently.

_“Klaus.”_

He resists the urge to smirk, and nips teasingly at the abused nipple, feeling both of Dave’s hands tighten around his hips.

“Don’t tease. I told you it’s not going to work.”

Klaus hums, pressing open-mouthed wet kisses to his chest, and swings his left leg over Dave’s right so he flattens it against the bed. He thrusts against the place Dave’s thigh meets his abdomen, leaving a sticky, hot trail over the glistening skin, and lets out a breathy moan, pressing his forehead into Dave’s breastbone.

“Klaus,” Dave growls dangerously, now gripping his hips enough to leave bruises. His ignored erection bobs once against his abdomen; purple, angry, and leaking when Klaus peeks. “Last chance. _I’m warning you_.”

Klaus grins against the beating skin, and then puts both of his hands against Dave’s ribs to get better leverage, _and grinds –_

The room suddenly spins, and he finds himself flat on his back, looking up at the ugly ceiling with his breath catching in his throat. Dave grabs both of bony wrists in one hand, and presses them into the mattress above his head. He glares down at him, pupils dark and almost completely swallowing up the irises, leaving the tiniest rim of blue around them. Klaus can’t hold back the shiver this time, and he tugs sharply to test Dave’s grip on his wrists, whimpering when Dave just presses down harder.

The position makes his ribs ache, but Klaus couldn’t care less as the heat flares up under his skin, and his cock throbs painfully.

“Dave,” He pleads, trying to arch his spine up towards him, but Dave is leaning over him, using his knees to keep Klaus’s legs spread, and he has his other hand firmly pressing down against his abdomen, _and Klaus can’t gain any friction_. “Dave, _please._ ”

“I warned you,” Dave tilts his head, watching Klaus squirm beneath him. “I told you not to tease me, _told you to_ _behave_ , but you didn’t listen.”

Klaus moans, and looks helplessly up at Dave, cock twitching against his abdomen.

Dave increases the pressure holding his wrists against the bed, an order to _keep them there_ , and then Klaus feels fingers trail down the skin of his neck. Dave looks at him, gaze assessing, and then he curls his hand around his throat possessively, thumb just resting under Klaus’s Adam’s apple.

Klaus keens, and bites his lip, spine arching. He looks up at Dave, who is watching him intently. “Colour, Klaus?” Dave asks, the barest hint of uncertainty in his tone, and Klaus melts a little inside.

“Green,” He babbles immediately, sucking in a breath. “Green, green, green.”

Dave gives him a brief tender smile, eyes shining, before his face hardens again. He roams his eyes down Klaus’s body slowly, taking his time, and every bit of skin his gaze touches _burns_.

Klaus can’t hold back an embarrassing whimper as Dave’s gaze dips past his belly-button, and Dave’s eyes snap back up to meet his. Dave smirks, and leans down to breathe hotly against his ear, thumb applying the slightest bit of pressure to his airway. “I won’t hurt you, and I’m not going to _fuck you_ ,” He murmurs, and then pauses for a moment, pressing a chaste kiss to the hinge of Klaus’s jaw when Klaus whines softly in disappointment. “But I will make love to you.”

And Klaus knows he would roll his eyes and scoff loudly if any other person said this to him in bed, _but Klaus knows Dave,_ knows Dave views sex differently, and his heart aches with love for the romantic dork.

Dave has ruined him for life.

There will never be anyone else but Dave.

“-and it’s not going to be rough. We’re going to go slow and gentle, _and you’re going to like it_ ,” Dave tells him, kissing down the accessible side of his neck, and giving a pleased hum when Klaus tilts his head back further for him. He feels Dave press his thumb down just a bit harder against his trachea, not yet blocking off the air, but enough so that Klaus is very much aware of the threat. “And if you quicken the pace, or try to make me go harder, then we’re going to slow right the way down, and we’ll build up again slowly. Understand?”

Klaus groans, and nods, hands clenching into fists above his head. 

“But first,” Dave says, and Klaus feels him smile against his clavicle. “I think it’s only fair if you looked a little more desperate, don’t you?”

Through the haze that’s rapidly making it difficult to think, Klaus sees flashes of the past hour; the intermittent teasing and edging, the dangerous look in Dave’s eyes as Klaus would pull away again, and again, and again.

“Dave, please,” He babbles frantically, whimpering when Dave sucks a nipple between his lips. He Lavishes it with attention from his tongue and teeth, before breathing hotly on the skin, and leaving it red and swollen so he can switch to the other one. “Please, please, I need you now, _please_.”

Dave chuckles, but pays his begging no mind. He lets go of Klaus’s neck to shuffle backwards as he presses open-mouthed kisses in a line down Klaus’s belly towards his pelvis. “God, I love you,” Dave breathes tenderly into the skin just above his belly-button.

Something about hearing the words makes Klaus feel sad, and he feels a sharp ache in his throat. He has the strangest urge to tell Dave he misses him, despite the fact he’s right here.

Dave’s lips travel lower, cruelly skirting around his erection, and nipping lightly at crease of his groin.

Klaus has the oddest feeling of Deja-vu.

He blinks against the haze, feeling a cold chill creep in and settle unpleasantly in his bones.

This has happened before.

This has already happened.

 _This was the last time_ , a voice that sounds like Dave’s whispers softly in his head, and Klaus stiffens.

Dave stops immediately, lips hovering above Klaus’s skin. “Colour, Klaus?”

But he can’t answer; there’s an aching lump in his throat he can’t explain, and if he opens his mouth, he thinks he might cry. He squeezes his eyes closed as the tears build, and he feels Dave pull away to look at him. “Klaus? Klaus, love, I need you to open your eyes for me.”

This sets loud alarm bells ringing in his head. The phrase makes him want to physically recoil against the bed, a dull nauseating horror rolling through him. He’s heard this phrase before; knows that if he opens his eyes, he’ll see something terrible, something awful, even if he can’t remember what it is.

“Klaus?” Dave’s worried voice says, and Klaus feels his hand settle hesitantly over his knee, thumb brushing reassuringly over the skin. But Klaus flinches, because Dave’s skin is cold, _ice cold._ “Please open your eyes for me?”

Klaus swallows, and shakes his head roughly.

“Please, Klaus,” Dave whispers. “For me?”

Klaus takes a deep breath, feeling silly at scaring Dave like this, yet being utterly unable to ignore _the pure terror_ that runs through him at what he’s about to do, and opens his eyes.

And gasps, flinching back into the mattress.

There’s a huge gaping hole over Dave’s heart, blood running down his abdomen into the creases of his groin, and then steadily staining the white bedsheets. He lays there, paralysed in horror, as Dave peers down at his chest, and then looks up at Klaus accusingly. “I die Klaus, I’m dead. You let me die.”

“No,” Klaus says, shaking his head, trying desperately to move his hands, _but they won’t move_. “No, no, no, you’re right here, you’re not-”

“I die, and you survive.”

“No, no, no. I’d die for you, I’d follow you. I- no, _this doesn’t make any sense_. What-”

Dave’s eyes suddenly go wide and frightened, and something in Klaus’s gut _screams_ for him to run away, to look away right now, but he can’t.

“Don’t do this,” Klaus begs him. “Please don’t.”

Dave removes his cold hand from Klaus’s knee, and reaches towards his own throat. His chest seems to spasm, and there’s a choked gurgling sound, and then blood starts trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Dave’s lips go blue, and then he starts to fall backwards, and suddenly Klaus can move, and he reaches out to catch him desperately - and then they’re in the ditch, and they both have their uniforms on, and there’s gunfire flying all around them. Dave’s laid on the muddy ground, head cradled in Klaus’s arms, and Klaus is sobbing against his dirty hair, _“Dave, Dave, please don’t leave me, please, please,”_ He can feel his heart shattering inside his chest as he watches, absolutely useless, as Dave’s eyes become glassy, looking up towards the sky, and how the fuck does a person survive this feeling, **_its excruciating -_**

* * *

Klaus gasps awake, bolting upright in bed, and clawing desperately at his chest. He’s suffocating, there’s no air, only _pain, pain, pain_ , and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe.

He can still see Dave’s panicked eyes, feel the warm wetness pulsing sickly beneath his hands, hear the choked gurgle as the blood bubbled up between Dave’s teeth, smell the smoke and the napalm, and taste the metallic tang of death that cloyed up the air as Dave drowned on his own blood, and _fuck, no, no, no. He can’t, he can’t –_

The pain is indescribable, _a grief_ , absolutely all-consuming, and it rips through him mercilessly. It wraps its tendrils around his heart and lungs and constricts, making his cries silent as his body hopelessly tries to suck in air.

His vision is a messy blur of moving shadows, and his ears are buzzing confusingly with noise; shouting voices, shrieking, sobbing, laughing, threatening snarls, begging pleas, and the choked sounds of Dave’s last breaths, and _‘I die Klaus, I’m dead. You let me die.’_

He’s shaking; horrible, violent tremors striking through the muscles, making them cramp, and ache, and spasm horribly. His cheeks are wet, and his arms are _on fire_ , and he can taste the nauseating tang of blood on his tongue. He claws frantically at his chest through his top, nails scratching at the skin, but no matter how much he tries to breathe, he only inhales and exhales nothingness; his lungs have become an unmoving dead thing in his chest.

_Klaus! Klaus! Klaus! … Klaus! You have to help me, you have to help me… Klaus! … I’ll kill you, I’ll kill all of you bastards… Klaus! You can hear me, you can see me, I know you can! Just help me please! Help me! please, please, please…_

He panics, _he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe_ , and the pain _pulses_ , and he curls forward with a silent cry. He’s dying, he must be dying.

There’s a sudden shock of cold steel against his hand, and for a second, he can breathe again. He sucks in oxygen greedily, but when he tries to exhale a sob wrenches its way from deep inside his chest cavity, and it’s ugly, and loud, and _it hurts_.

He wraps his shaking fingers around the metal, feeling the edge of the tag dig into his palm, and pulls until the chain bites painfully at the skin on the back of his neck. His top is absolutely drenched, and the sweat is cooling; a horrible chill tingling over his sensitive skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. _He’s dying, he’s dying, he’s dying._

_Klaus! Klaus! Klaus!… Pathetic boy! ... You’re alive, you’re alive, but I’ll kill you, I will…I don’t like it here, you have to help me, you have to help me… Dead, dead, dead… I didn’t want to die, I don’t want to be here, please help me, please… Please, please Klaus, you have to help me, you have to… Klaus! Klaus!... I’ll hurt you, I’ll hurt you, I will…_

His ears are ringing, he can’t think, and everything’s so _loud_. He doesn’t know how it’s possible for him to feel their words scratch sharply at his skin, or how he can taste their anguish in the air he breathes, or feel their rage pulse hotly with his racing heartbeats, but he can.

_‘I die, and you survive.’_

He sobs, absolutely fucking broken, and pushes his forehead against his knees, curling up in agony like a dying animal protecting it’s middle.

_Klaus! Klaus! Klaus!_

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t-” He hears someone mumbling, high-pitched and awful, but he can’t focus because the pain is like a tsunami, waves unrelenting, and all he can do is sit there and take it as it crashes over him, in him, and forcibly breaks him apart. “Please, please, please. I can’t do this, I can’t do this. Please make it stop, make it stop, make it stop -”

_“Klaus!”_

Ice touches his arm, cutting straight through skin and muscle, and chilling the bone, and whilst he might be falling apart at the seams, his body seems to work on auto-pilot. He flings himself away from the touch, hitting his head on the wall hard enough that the blurriness gains a few flashing stars. Something pulses in his midsection, and there’s a shooting sensation that runs up to his shoulders, down his arms, into his palms, and _outwards_.

He snaps his head up, vision swimming, but through the tears he can see that there’s no one there, he’s alone.

Utterly alone.

Klaus just can’t deal with this.

_‘I die, and you survive.’_

Dave isn’t here.

He’s just a useless, broken thing; crying into his hands every night.

**_Every. Fucking. Night._ **

Fury builds up; sudden, hot, and fiery. It washes over him in dizzy rush, spreading throughout his chest, his limbs, his head. Blood boils in his vessels, and his pulse roars loudly in his ears. The anger is overwhelming, frightening in its intensity, but it decimates the pain, so Klaus latches onto it, feels it, hones in on it, until all he can taste, smell, and breathe is _rage_.

He throws himself off the bed, picks up the empty vodka bottle left abandoned on the floor, and throws it as hard as he can at the wall where it smashes into shards of glittering glass. It feels _good_ , but it doesn’t completely sate the _rage, anger, helplessness_ , so he picks up the glass of water next and does the same.

He becomes a hurricane.

His hands reach, grasp, and throw with purely destruction in mind. He swipes out a hand, sending everything on the desk crashing to the floor. He pushes over the chair, kicking and stamping on the legs with his bare feet until they’re snapped and broken. He grabs books from the shelves, ripping out their pages, and breaking their spines. He slams open the wardrobe doors, drags clothes from the hangers, and pulls at the fabrics until they rip satisfyingly in his hands. He reaches for everything and anything he can; throwing, smashing, and tearing everything apart to feed the feeling inside of him, to keep the anger burning so hot it consumes everything else.

He’s crying so hard he can barely see his next target, and his chest is heaving, his hands are sore, and there’s glass and splinters embedded in his feet, but it doesn’t matter, because if he stops, he thinks he might just die. He pulls at the wardrobe door, trying to rip it off its hinges, but it holds firm, so he punches it instead, feeling a sharp pain shoot across his knuckles, and the skin tear as it grazes the wood.

He stumbles away from it, sobbing, but there’s nothing left to break, and as he loses his grip on the fury, the agony starts to creep back in, and he can’t feel that again, _he can’t -_

He looks around, desperate, and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror hanging on the far wall, miraculously still intact. He looks an absolute state; hair a complete mess, eyes shining with tears, and face blotchy and twisted up in despair. But he still looks far too put together, _too normal_ , for the swirling mess inside of him, and it makes him furious to see such a false reflection.

He violently tugs the tags over his head, scraping the skin, and throws them at the mirror, watching as it shatters and cracks beautifully, a few shards falling and smashing against the floor. He stands there, breathing harshly, and stares at his broken, warped refection in the mirror, and thinks _that’s more like it._

The rage pulses hotly for a second, making his ears ring, before it starts to fade again. The despair crawls in the empty spaces it leaves behind, and he puts his head in his shaking hands, and gasps broken sobs into his palms, tasting blood and salty water.

He’s not sure how much time passes, lost to the pain, but excruciatingly slowly, little-by-little, the pressure on his chest seems to lighten, and his sobs gradually quieten and then die down. He breathes into his palms, and reviews everything that’s happened in the time since he gasped awake.

Oh, shit.

Klaus takes a deep breath, and then peeks at the room between his fingers, wincing as he takes in the magnitude of destruction.

He’s screwed.

Absolutely, fantastically screwed.

The damage has well and truly past the point where duct tape would save him. He lets his hands fall to his sides, already envisioning the reactions he’s bound to receive, when he startles, and does a double-take around the room, and then has a third look, and a fourth.

There’s no ghosts.

Klaus holds his breath and listens; he can hear sobbing, screeching, and moaning throughout the academy, but for whatever reason his bedroom is free of the dead. Even the weepy man who is a near constant-fixture in the corner of the room has disappeared.

He was sure there were ghosties in the room when he’d woke up earlier. They’d been loud, _so loud,_ and he’d felt their anger, and their anguish, and their loss. He’d felt the icy prickle of their touch against his skin, and saw their blurry movements as they stumbled and paced around the floor.

Klaus breathes out, feeling unsettled, and reaches up to clasp his hand around Dave’s tags reassuringly, but his fingers touch skin. His heart jumps into his throat, and he panics, but then the memory of throwing the tags at the mirror flashes across his mind.

He immediately dives to the floor amongst the mess to look for them, ripping frantically through the fabric, paper, and glass, overwhelmed with anxiety to have them. The tags are his only link to Dave; the only thing he has left of the man he loves, the only proof he has that Dave was real, that he existed.

His ears are ringing, and his chest is starting to become tight again. Shards of glass, ceramic, and fuck-knows-what-else cut and scrape his hands, and he can feel pieces digging painfully into his knees through his pants, but he couldn’t care less.

He needs to find them.

He needs to have them in his hands right now.

He pushes a broken book away, palm grazing against the glass on the floor, and goes to crawl forwards, when there’s a sudden pressure on his shoulder, forcefully pulling him back.

And

Klaus

Freezes

He kneels there, mute with horror, and his muscles stiff and frozen under the strong, tense grip. His breath stills sharply in his chest, and he can hear his pulse frantic and loud in his ears. He blinks and slowly looks down, appalled to find blue light coming from his bleeding hands. _How the fuck did he miss that happening?_

Klaus swallows heavily, and slowly looks to the side, keeping the rest of his body completely still. He sees a familiar hand gripping tightly at his left shoulder, and he something untwists in his chest. He looks past the hand, up a leather covered arm, past a shoulder, and then there’s Ben’s face, staring down in astonishment at his right-hand clutching Klaus’s shoulder.

Ben opens and closes his mouth, no sound escaping, and then he looks up to meet Klaus’s gaze, eyes wide with shock.

They stare at each other in silence, both dumbstruck, when Ben suddenly makes a choked sound, and let’s go of Klaus’s shoulder as if it burns. He quickly stumbles back a few steps, almost tripping over the upturned chair leg in his haste to get away, and puts his palms up in the air visibly between them.

Klaus blinks slowly at the sudden change, feeling like he’s stuck in a daze. He frowns at Ben, tilting his head at his distressed expression, and decides there’s something about the way Ben is backing away from him like Klaus is frightened animal that upsets him.

“What?” Klaus asks, breaking the silence, hating how slow his brain seems to be working to put the pieces together. “Ben – what? Why?”

“I touched you. I shouldn’t have – I didn’t think-” Ben says wildly, struggling with his words. “I know you don’t like us touching you, and you were already having a panic attack, and I- God, Klaus, I’m sorry, I just wanted to stop you before you hurt yourself again, I-”

_I know you don’t like us touching you_

**_Us_ **

One second Klaus is staring dumbly at Ben with glass digging into his shins, and in the next second, he’s stalking towards him, grabbing hold of the idiot as he makes to stumble back again, and then pulling him in the for the tightest hug of his entire existence.

Ben startles, hands hovering uselessly in the air either side of him, but Klaus just squeezes tighter, _and he’s hugging Ben, Ben!_ and he feels Ben’s hands settle on his spine, cautiously at first, and then tighter until Ben is clutching at Klaus just as hard as Klaus is clutching at him, and Klaus feels his sore eyes sting as Ben laughs joyously over his shoulder.

“Klaus I – God, I can’t even – this is amazing. You’re amazing,” Ben says thickly, breath hitching as if he’s trying not to cry.

“You’re not one of _them_ ,” Klaus whispers fiercely, furious that Ben could even think such a thing. His throat aches, and he strengthens his hold on the idiot impossibly. “You’re my brother.”

Ben lets out a choked laugh, and Klaus’s throat feels swollen and raw when he tries to swallow around the increasing urge to cry. He buries his head against Ben’s neck, feeling safe, and breathes raggedly against his skin. Ben even smells the same; an earthy scent underneath the leather, like the ozone that lingers in the air after a thunderstorm.

Emotions and memories rise up, and something about being held in Ben’s arms makes Klaus powerless to fight against them. He sobs once, and fists the leather of Ben’s jacket, clutching tighter when he feels Ben try to pull away to look at him. “Klaus?” Ben asks worriedly, and Klaus clenches his teeth, and squeezes his eyes closed, trying to keep it together.

He feels Ben hesitate, and then there’s a hand rubbing soothingly over his back. “I’m here,” Ben says simply, voice gentle. “I’ve got you.”

The dam breaks away in an instant, crumbling to dust, and everything _, literally everything_ , comes flooding in. He clutches at Ben, shoulders shaking, and cries into his neck.

He thinks of Dave; lost somewhere he can’t seem to reach him. He thinks of the ghosts, how he seems to be able to _feel_ them now, and how much that terrifies him. He thinks of the Mausoleum, about the shadows that laughed as they tore at his skin. He thinks of the drugs, and the unrelenting, untouchable itch under his skin. He thinks of the people who put their hands on him, the times when he’d been too high to move, barely aware, and the way they’d laughed afterwards and said, “ _You know you wanted it, now wasn’t that good?”_ and he’d smiled tightly and agreed, because he’d known they had heroin and they’d give him more if he stayed, and _he wanted more_.

He thinks of Vietnam.

He thinks about laughing around campfires with men who became friends, about explosions that rocked the earth, and the lies he told as blood spurted _too fast, too much_ , from ripped up arteries, _“You’re going to be ok, you’re ok. Hey, hey, hey, shhh, don’t look at that. Hey, tell me again about that girl you’ve managed to convince to love your ugly mug, Martha isn’t it? Man, she’s a looker, isn’t she? Sounds like a right firecracker.”_

He thinks of the desperation he felt when Tommy died in his arms, barely eighteen, with intestines spilling out onto the mud.

He thinks of Don, the oldest and wisest of their group, and how Klaus had found him standing solemnly over his own corpse in the showers after eating a bullet from his own gun. He’d been making the guys laugh not an hour before by the fireside. He remembers returning back to that base two months later, and finding Don still there, face shattered and barely recognisable, wandering around aimlessly, and sobbing, _“I’m trapped here forever. I can never go home. I’ll never go home.”_

He remembers the way Mickey’s brain mater splattered against his cheek when the bullet went through his face mid-laugh. He remembers the way Mickey had immediately fallen headfirst like a sack of potatoes onto the grass, and didn’t get back up to finish his joke. _“As long as you die laughing, Hargreeves, you can count it as a giant fuck you to the big guy in the sky as far as I’m concerned – What? Oh for f - shut up, Timmy! If God’s so good, why are we stuck in fucking ‘Nam up to our eyeballs in shit? This place is FUBAR man, just FUBAR.”_

He thinks of the first time he’d picked up a gun with the intent to kill. He remembers the anger, the rage, and the way his hands had been covered in his friend’s blood, but utterly steady, as he’d aimed and pulled the trigger.

He remembers how Dave had found him hours later, curled up behind a tree at the edge of camp. He remembers how he’d clutched at Dave, hiding his face from the young man over Dave’s shoulder who looked at him accusingly with a bullet hole in his neck, and how he hadn’t been able to stop his hands from shaking for days.

He remembers the ghosts that came after that man, and how he’d initially drowned them out with the heroin that was _so easy_ to source, and made him feel gloriously numb. He thinks of the ones who disappeared after a while, and the others who gravitated towards the lieutenants and the generals, joining a whole army of ghosts behind the men who spat orders, and looked at the men under their charge like pieces of meat.

Such is war.

He still remembers all their faces.

He lets out a strangled sound, and Ben hushes him, whispering reassurances into his ear.

He thinks of Ben, poor Ben, stuck unhappily following Klaus around because he’s been so selfish and he’s trapped his brother here forever. He thinks of how he’s going to knowingly doom Dave to the same fate because he can’t consider the alternative. He thinks of his siblings, and how much he’d missed them over the years, and how Five’s not dead, _not dead_.

Their siblings.

The siblings who would love the chance to see Ben’s face, never mind hug him. The siblings Ben loves, but hasn’t been able to speak to in over thirteen years. Guilt comes in thick-and-fast at monopolising Ben like this, and Klaus takes a shaky breath, and tries to pull away, but Ben’s arms are like iron around him, utterly unmovable.

“Don’t you want to go and wake up the others?” Klaus says, voice hoarse. “Speak with Five, and Vanya?”

“No,” Ben mumbles, and then sighs. “Well, yes – but not right now. I probably won’t be corporal for long, and I – you – _we_ need this right now.”

The words make Klaus’s throat ache terribly, and honestly, _fuck Ben_ if he makes him cry _again_. He sniffs, not daring to answer in case he loses it, and Ben pulsl his head back warily at his silence. Ben takes one look at whatever expression is currently broadcasting over Klaus’s face without his permission, and then huffs a laugh with a tender smile on his face.

Klaus scowls, and stamps on Ben’s foot in irritation, pushing him away gently. Ben lets him go this time, still smiling. “I hate your face,” Klaus tells him bitterly, wiping a hand over his cheeks, and grimacing at the feeling of dried tears on his skin.

“Of course, you do,” Ben smirks, unconcerned.

Klaus pulls a face at him, and runs a hand through his hair, looking around the bedroom again. The silence lengthens, and Klaus clears his throat uncomfortably, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “D’you think they’d believe it If I said I woke up to it like this? Because I’ll be honest, Benji, I’m coming up blank on the excuses front.”

Ben tilts his head, looking at him intently. Then, without warning, he punches Klaus _hard_ in the shoulder.

“Ow! Ben! What the fuck was that for?” Klaus yelps, jumping back. His bare feet crunch loudly on the glass, making them both cringe, and he sends Ben a reproachful look.

“Take your pick from all the stupid shit you’ve done in the past few weeks!” Ben hisses disapprovingly, frowning. “And don’t even think for a moment, that we’re not going to talk about that vodka bottle you threw at the wall there-”

“What bottle?” Klaus says innocently, raising his eyebrows.

Ben shoots him an unimpressed look. “ _You know_ what bottle. Be grateful I’ve only punched you the once. And be careful where you’re walking, for God’s sake. You’ve got glass everywhere.”

“You punched me before!”

“I didn’t even know I could do it that time! And that was weeks ago! But either way, it was completely justified. You had your mouth stuffed with drugs-”

Klaus scoffs, and rolls his eyes. “Three oxy pills max. Hardly a cocktail for overdose with my tolerance, but whatever, _Ben_ -”

Ben’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Still three pills too many-”

“Anyway,” He interrupts, rubbing the sore spot on his shoulder theatrically. “I hope this isn’t going to become a theme.”

“Well you’re just going to have to rein in all the stupid shit then, aren’t you?” Ben says apathetically, shrugging, but there’s a smile playing on his lips.

“For fuck’s sake, Ben!” Klaus whines petulantly, fighting a grin as he walks over to where he can see the glint of Dave’s tags. He knows what Ben’s doing, distracting him from the embarrassment with bickering, but it’s working. Although, admittedly, there was probably a part of Ben that did just want to punch him. “I’ve given you life, and you’re still nagging and abusing me. You should be treating me like a God.”

“You? A God?” Ben snorts behind him. “I don’t think so. Also, sorry to break it to you, but I’m still dead. No heartbeat if you didn’t notice.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. All I’m hearing is abuse,” Klaus picks up the tags, and hangs them back around his neck, the touch of the metal against his skin unwinding the remaining tangles of anxiety in his chest. “You should get on your knees and bow to me in eternal gratitude.”

“Isn’t that more your thing?”

Klaus gasps, and turns around to look at him incredulously. “Are you sub-shaming me?”

Ben raises his eyebrows, and walks closer to the door to look pointedly down at the pair of handcuffs on the rug. Klaus hasn’t seen the things since he was seventeen.

“You are!” Klaus says, grinning. “You’re sub-shaming me!”

Ben smirks back, but then he freezes abruptly, eyes widening at the sound of heavy, limping footsteps getting closer. Both of them look at each other in horror, and Klaus feels the cold sensation of dread washing over him.

“Klaus,” Ben says tightly. “Now might be the time to switch it off.”

Klaus looks down at his palms, both giving off a faint blue light, and tries to focus on the energy dancing around his fingers. He tries to imagine dragging the power back under the skin, thinking hard about his intent to make the ghosts incorporeal again.

His hands stubbornly remain blue.

The heavy steps grow louder, and if Klaus isn’t mistaken, they sound much more hurried than usual.

“Klaus!” Ben hisses, a rising panic on his face as he glances between the door and Klaus’s blue hands. “Hurry up!”

“I know! I know!” He snaps, violently shaking his hands, and gritting his teeth at the sickening pain it sends across his bruised knuckles. “I’m trying!”

The footsteps sound like they’re halfway down the corridor.

“Well _try harder_.”

“I don’t know how! There’s not exactly a fucking off-switch Ben!”

“Well lock the door then!”

“You’re closer!” Klaus hisses, waving his hands faster desperately.

“Shit, yeah!” Ben says, striding quickly towards the door. “Sorry, I forgot I can-”

But it’s too late, and the door bangs open.

Beady Eyes stands in the doorway, chest heaving, and dark eyes wild with manic excitement. Her eyes move over Ben like he isn’t even there, and land on Klaus, stood frozen in the centre of the room. She grins sinisterly, upper lip curling back to show a row of gleaming teeth. She takes a single step inside, dragging her right foot behind her, eyes fixated gleefully on him.

Klaus exhales.

“Fuck,” He says.

She snarls, and lunges for him, knocking Ben aside and into the wall when her tries to tackle her. Klaus stumbles backwards, glass digging into his feet, and sends a quick glance towards the other door, wondering if he could unlock it in time before she reaches him, before dismissing the idea as fanciful. She looks absolutely beside herself, and Klaus, hand-on-heart, is expecting her to start foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog any minute.

She rushes at him, teeth bared threateningly, and he squeaks, hastily picks up the remains of what was probably once a lamp, _but really who the fuck knows_ , and throws it at her face. He winces as it goes sailing past her head and smashes against the wall, almost hitting Ben with his poor, panicked aim.

Ben sends him a glare, a twisted look of pain on his face. “Did you, or did you not _fight in Vietnam_?”

“That’s different!” He hisses back, heart racing as he dodges Beady Eyes around the room. Ben grits his teeth, and groans, pushing his hands against his abdomen which seems to be wiggling- “Don’t you dare bring your tentacle friends to the party!” Klaus continues, voice high-pitched and hysterical to his own ears. “There is definitely not enough space for your tentacle buddies, Nanny Mcfee, and me in here! I would definitely end up in bite-sized chunks, and that is not how I want to rock the ghost life, Ben!”

“You’re really going to talk to me about power control?” Ben’s voice is laced with pain, but he straightens up halfway with one hand pressing hard against his abdomen, and starts throwing pieces of ceramic and glass at Beady Eyes with his other hand. “Really? _Whilst were being attacked_ _by a ghost_.”

Klaus shoots him a dirty look, and then ducks quickly to avoid a swipe to the head. She’s slow with her twisted leg; and if the room was any bigger, he’d outrun her easily, but he’s in a small space, with stuff all over the place, and she’s fucking terrifying.

She lunges again, furious, and her dirty, long fingernails manage to scrape along his cheek as runs past her, and leaps over the over-turned chair. He bangs into the wall beside Ben, with a painful “oomph”, and then reaches out and shoves at Ben’s shoulder to get him moving. “Go! Go, go, go! Out the door, Ben!”

Klaus fists Ben’s jacket, and pushes him into the hallway when he moves too slowly, diving out after him. He spins around and see’s the old witch trying to run over the chair to reach them, but getting her twisted ankle caught, and crashing to the floor in a snarling heap.

He slams the door closed.

They both stare wide-eyed at the door, breathing heavily. Klaus keeps his hand firmly on the doorknob, pulling it towards him.

“What. The. Fuck.” He wheezes.

 _“Agreed,”_ Ben says, looking shell-shocked. He blows out a long breath, and then frowns, looking down at Klaus’s hand. _“Klaus, Your hand-”_

“I know, I know, it’s bleeding, but whatever. I think we have bigger things to worry about right now, _Ben_ ,” Klaus tightens his hold, cursing that his palm is slippery with blood and sweat. “Shit, is it bad I wish Dad had been more of a bastard, and our doors could lock from the outside?”

_“No, that’s not w-”_

“Can you even kill a ghost? Can you have a second death? Christ, what the fuck are we going to do?”

A sudden thought comes to him, and Klaus literally feels his heart skip a beat. If Ben and Beady Eyes are up and kicking, who’s to say he hasn’t done the same to all the ghosties in the mansion? And if so, could the others have realised they’re corporal too? His mind jumps immediately to the figures that follow Five around, their eyes watching and waiting, utterly fixated.

He feels sick.

 _“No Klaus,”_ Ben is saying, but Klaus can hardly hear him over the sudden ringing in his ears. _“Your hands aren’t-”_

“Ben,” He interrupts, terrified. “The others, the other ghosts. Five’s ghosts. Do you think they know?”

Ben’s eyes widen hugely, face transforming into the same look of horror that must be on his own, and he disappears suddenly from his side. Klaus blinks, surprised, but in the next second a screeching, fractured head appears through the wood of the door, inches from his face.

Klaus _screams,_ tripping over his feet as he stumbles backwards, and falls painfully onto his backside. He scoots back quickly on the floor as she throws herself at him, but his back hits the wall, and he’s trapped. He squeezes his eyes closed, muscles tense as she goes for his throat, and shivers at the sudden awful feeling of freezing on the inside.

It takes a second for his brain to register that _she’s just fallen through him_ , and then he opens his eyes, blows out a long breath, and thumps his head back against the wall in relief. Beady Eyes pulls back, looking absolutely furious, and snarls. She swipes her hands through his exposed neck frantically, a wild desperate gleam in her eyes, but her hands just pass through harmlessly.

_Fucking hell, could this night get any worse?_

“Klaus?!”

“What the hell is going on?! Klaus!”

“Klaus! Klaus, are you ok?!”

Klaus sighs miserably, sending a few curses towards the girl in the sky. _He hopes her bicycle chain breaks._

Diego’s boots squeak loudly as he skids into the corridor, and he can hear Luther’s heavy footsteps thundering down the attic staircase with Allison’s bare feet padding quickly behind him. Klaus groans internally, and glares up at Beady Eyes who is now towering above him. “This is all _your fault_ ,” He hisses at her, nose wrinkling when she angrily bares her teeth at him.

“Klaus?” Diego says breathlessly, rushing past Luther as he appears at the bottom of the staircase, and coming to a stop beside him. He crouches down, eyes scanning quickly over him for injuries, and frowns at his bloody hands and feet. “Klaus, are you ok? What happened?”

Luther and Allison appear behind him, peering down at him worriedly. Diego tries to reach for his left hand, but Klaus flinches and pulls his hands towards him, wringing them together. Diego slowly pulls his own back, a brief flash of hurt crossing his face.

“Klaus?” Allison says softly, and she takes a step forward and kneels on the floor beside Diego. “Do you know where you are? Did you have another flashback?”

The smell of napalm surges up suddenly, and he resists the urge to gag. He squeezes his eyes closed tightly, and then blinks them open again when the nausea passes, catching the end of a loaded look exchanged between Diego and Luther.

_Fuck it._

“No, no, nope. Just – well, a ghostie decided to attack me,” Klaus takes one look at their stupefied expressions, and then hastily looks away, feeling his heart pound against his ribs with anxiety. _He’s told them, he’s actually told them about a ghost_. He takes a shaky breath, fidgeting nervously, and then looks up to glare at Beady Eyes when she hisses at him. “The person you should really be haunting, is your last hairdresser,” He hisses back, clenching his hands together. “Because, _Christ_ , did they fuck you over forever.”

“What?” Luther asks over the woman’s snarl, looking around the corridor. “Who are you-”

Klaus misses the rest of question, because Ben suddenly appears on his other side, looking panicked. _“I can’t find Five and Vanya, they’re not in their rooms. Klaus, they definitely should have heard you shouting.”_

The dread washes over him, and he tries to breathe around the sudden pressure in his lungs. “Where’s Five and Vanya?” He says frantically, cutting Diego off in the middle of saying fuck-knows what. He scrambles up from the floor, moving too quickly, and staggers off to the side. He curses, catching himself on the wall, and blinks away the dark spots in his vision. “We need to find Five, has anyone seen him? He’s not in his room, he could be in danger, he-”

“Five and Vanya aren’t here,” Allison says, standing slowly, and looking at him strangely. “They went to look into a possible anomaly. Five didn’t think he needed everyone, and Vanya couldn’t sleep so she volunteered to go with him. They said they’d call if they needed help.”

“Oh,” Klaus breathes, sharing a look of utter relief with Ben. “Ok. that’s good. Good.”

There’s a sudden wail, and Klaus startles, whipping his head around, but it’s just the weepy man sobbing loudly into his hands. The man stumbles down the corridor, and Klaus watches in dismay as he walks straight through the closed door, and into his bedroom. “Aw, _why?_ ” Klaus sighs, pouting sulkily at the door. “I thought we’d lost him.”

“Lost – you mean Five?” Luther asks, frowning in confusion.

 _“No, you- Klaus, you banished us all downstairs earlier, remember?”_ Ben says, tilting his head and frowning at him. _“When you were having a panic attack?”_

Klaus stares stupidly at him, and then he scoffs and rolls his eyes. “No, I didn’t!”

 _“Yeah, you did,”_ Ben says. “ _One moment I was trying to speak to you, and the next thing I know I’m in the basement with, like, twelve other ghosts.”_

“I – I really did that?” Klaus asks, looking in amazement down at his bloody hands.

_“Yeah, you-”_

“Klaus!”

Klaus looks back up to see all three of them staring at him. Allison eyes him uncertainly, gaze flickering over his face. “Klaus, are - _are you high?_ ”

Klaus gapes at her. “What? _No!_ ” He turns to Diego for support, but he’s watching him just as critically. “I’m sober! Why-”

“Because we’ve just found you screaming on the floor, babbling about ghosts attacking you,” Luther says, frowning. “And you keep looking away, and glaring at things erratically.”

Klaus stares at Luther, at all of them, wondering where their brain cells have scurried off to when he wasn’t looking. “Um, firstly, I didn’t scream-”

 _“You did scream,”_ Ben says, leaning casually against the wall. _“Like a little girl. I heard you from upstairs.”_

Klaus gives him a withering look. “God heard that.”

“What?” Diego says, eyes flickering between him and the space Ben is occupying.

Luther’s frown deepens. “You did scream, we all heard you screaming-”

“-But _anyway_ ,” Klaus continues, pulling a face. “Point deux, I am not acting _erratically,_ you do know I can see ghosties right? Hell, Ben’s right there!” He points to where Ben’s stood, and Allison bites her lip, and glances uncomfortably around the hallway.

“Klaus-”

“And thirdly, a ghost did attack me! That’s how I got this!” Klaus says, pointing to his cheek indignantly.

In the resulting silence he catches Ben putting his middle finger up at Beady Eyes’ back as she hobbles angrily away down the corridor, and it sends Klaus into a fit of nervous giggles. He sees the others exchange glances, and Ben winces apologetically.

“Yeah,” Diego says flatly after a few seconds, lips thinning. “You look like you barely escaped with your life.”

The giggles stop abruptly, and Klaus scowls, feeling stupidly hurt by the dismissal. “Oh, fuck you, Diego! You weren’t there! And hey! Whilst we’re on the subject, did none of you hear the enraged screams of the dead? There was a distinct lack of Hargreeves siblings coming heroically to my rescue-”

“Klaus, is this a joke?” Luther says tiredly, rubbing his forehead. “Because if it is, it’s not funny. Everyone’s’ worried about an attack from the commission right now. This is not the time to be playing practical jokes-”

“Why are your hands and feet covered in blood?” Diego cuts in, eyes narrowing suspiciously. Luther’s jaw shuts with a click, and he sends Diego an annoyed look that the latter ignores.

Klaus tenses, and smiles tightly. “The ghostie smashed a glass, and clumsy ol’ me tripped whilst she was trying to claw my eyeballs out of their sockets, but I’m fine. Just a couple of nicks.”

Diego glares at him, and then he leans in, nostrils flaring. “You’ve been drinking,” He says accusingly. “I can smell the vodka on you.”

Klaus huffs, and takes a step back, throwing his hands out irritably. “So? Is it a crime to have a drink now?”

“So, you’re drunk,” Luther states bluntly, jaw clenching.

Klaus snorts, and rolls his eyes. “ _Please_ , it would take more than a teensy-weensy drop of vodka to get me wrecked. Come on, who do you take me for?”

 _“Klaus,”_ Ben says warningly, lips pressing together.

Klaus shakes his head, kicking himself for thinking they might actually take him seriously for once. “Look, whatever, you obviously don’t believe me about the ghostie. Big shock there-”

“No, that’s not what we’re saying,” Allison says, running a hand tiredly through her hair. “Maybe you had a nightmare, or maybe-”

“Well how could a ghost give you a scratch?” Luther says disbelievingly. “It’s a ghost.”

“Well how could Ben have saved all our asses in the theatre with his tentacle buddies? Golly Luther, _I just don’t know!_ ”

“ _You know_ you haven’t been able to manifest Ben since then!” Luther snaps, glowering at him. “And it’s no wonder since you still seem to be utterly unable to take anything seriously, sit and sulk your way through training, treat every mission like a joke, push away any attempt at letting us help you, and now you’re drinking-”

“Oh, Darling,” Klaus breathes, fanning his face, and batting his eyelashes. “You’re making me blush with all these compliments. Please, _do go on_.”

Luther’s face reddens angrily, and he huffs loudly. “Did you know, Allison and I were sat in the attic on a phone call to Patrick just now?” He asks tightly. “Discussing the possibility of Claire, _your niece_ , coming to stay for a weekend to meet everyone properly once the threat from the commission has been dealt with. What impression do you think hearing you screaming in the background is going to make when things are already strained enough as it is?”

“Luther,” Allison mutters, shaking her head. “That’s not his fault.”

“God, Klaus, if you would just think of others, and the consequences of your actions for once in your life!”

“I didn’t exactly choose to get attacked, Asshole!” Klaus sneers. “But sure, yeah, I’ll tell the ghosties to be more considerate next time!”

_Next time._

The air leaves his lungs in a painful whoosh.

There can never be a next time.

“Fine!” Luther says testily. “Fine. Then actually talk to us about the ghosts. Why couldn’t you banish it? Are you safe? How come we never saw the ghosts when we were kids, and you couldn’t control your powers? How come they’ve never hurt you before?”

Klaus grinds his teeth together, and looks away.

“Well?” Luther prompts, a hint of concern leaking into his voice.

Diego clears his throat when Klaus doesn’t respond, and takes a hesitant step towards him. “Look, Klaus, we both know the alcohol is a bad sign, a step in the wrong direction. Why don’t we all take a breath, go downstairs, and have a chat over Mom’s special hot chocolate? I think Five’s even generously left some marshmallows for everyone else for a change.”

Klaus clenches his teeth together harder, and glares stubbornly at the wall. _“Klaus,”_ He hears Ben say gently. _“Talk to them.”_

Something suddenly touches his arm, and he flinches, eyes flashing to the threat, but it’s only Allison, looking at him imploringly with kind, brown eyes. “Yeah, Klaus,” She says softly, brushing her thumb soothingly over his bicep. “Why don’t we have a talk? I think it’s about time, don’t you?”

Klaus flits his gaze quickly between each of them, feeling like a bug under a microscope, and his chest starts to seize up in panic. He clenches his hands into fists, digging his nails painfully into the cuts made by the glass. He thinks of Dave bleeding out in his arms, and Vietnam, and bodies blown to pieces, and icy stone walls, and cold dead hands that cruelly teared at his skin. He thinks of opening his mouth and letting it all out, about using his voice to speak the words, and his chest tightens, and _he can’t_ -

_He can’t, he can’t, he can’t._

“I have nothing else to say,” Klaus says bitterly, squirming out of Allison’s reach, and swallowing around the rising panic. 

Luther looks at him sternly. “Are you actually being serious right now?”

“Yes, _Dad_ ,” He says snidely, making Luther’s jaw tick. “I am capable you know.”

“Klaus,” Diego sighs, rubbing his fingers against his temple tiredly. “C’mon, this has gone on long enough. It’s obvious there’s something going on.”

Luther shakes his head, eyeing Klaus disapprovingly, _and Klaus seethes._

“Why the concern all of a sudden anyway? You’ve never bothered before!” Klaus snaps. “Admit it, the only reason you care now is because without me, you can’t speak to Ben!” And up until this moment, Klaus hadn’t even realised that this was something that had been playing on his mind.

“No, I’m worried about you. We all are!” Luther says angrily. “You’ve been fading away in front of us for weeks, and we can’t do a damned thing about it _because_ _you won’t talk to us_ -”

“You didn’t seem to care when I was on the streets,” Klaus says blithely, shrugging. “When I was getting fucked seven ways to Sunday just to get by! How would you know what I’m like? You haven’t known me for thirteen years!”

Allison gasps, and Diego makes a wounded noise in his throat. “Hey, now-”

“You’re my brother,” Luther spits, looking furious. “Of course, I care! And I wasn’t going to help fund your drug habit-”

“Yeah, yeah!” Klaus laughs humourlessly, running a hand through his hair agitatedly. “Because I’m only worth something when I’m not fucking myself up with drugs, right? Otherwise, you’d all just rather pretend I didn’t exist! Pathetic, useless Number Four! Don’t worry, I managed without any of your _pocket money_ from Dad anyway!”

“No, that’s not true!” Allison denies, looking increasingly upset.

“Klaus-” Diego starts, but Klaus is _angry_ , and he can feel it pulsing all around him, as if the house itself is furious, and the words just come rushing out.

_Klaus! Klaus! Klaus!_

“Oh? Well, I suppose it was all your agent’s idea to tell me to stop calling? Their decision not to invite me to your wedding? A junkie brother would’ve been bad press after all. Oh, and your letters from Hollywood must’ve gotten lost in the post, with me being homeless ‘n all, so I guess that’s the reason why I found out I had a niece from _a fucking tabloid magazine cover!_ ”

Allison’s face crumples, and she turns to send a desperate look at Diego, eyes glistening wetly. The tears cut through the red haze a bit, and Klaus takes a deep breath, and tries to rein in the fury. Ben studies him with an unreadable expression, remaining uncharacteristically silent.

_Klaus! Klaus! Klaus!_

Luther’s teeth grind together, and he seems to struggle to get the next words out. “It was hard to be around you back then, to watch as you lost yourself piece by piece to drugs-” Klaus scoffs disbelievingly, wrinkling his nose, and Luther’s eyes narrow. “Is that one of the reasons you’ve been acting differently? Because you’re upset about what happened back then?”

“Oh, trust me,” Klaus grins, flashing his teeth. “I came to terms with being the family’s black sheep, _years ago_.”

“Then what?” Luther asks exasperatedly. “Talk to us!”

But Klaus has had enough. The ghosts are getting _loud_ , and he can feel the control on his emotions slipping, and if he stays, he knows he’ll say something he’ll regret. “I’m tired, I’m going back to bed. Come on, Ben,” He pointedly looks away from Luther, pushing down the satisfaction as he catches Luther’s eyes flashing, and walks over to this door.

“Klaus, c’mon man, don’t-”

“Klaus, please-”

“You know what, Klaus,” Luther says haughtily behind him, and Klaus bristles, hand clenching around the doorknob. “Yeah, we’d all love to see Ben. But the only way that’ll happen is if you get your head out of your ass, and start acting like a team-player in this family, so I guess we can kiss that dream goodbye!”

_Klaus! Klaus! Klaus!_

“Screw you, Luther!” Klaus spins back around, eyes blazing, and takes a threatening step forward. Diego puts a light restraining hand against his shoulder, and Klaus aggressively shrugs him off. _Klaus! Klaus! Klaus! “_ I’ve been trying! But it’s not fucking easy you know! Plus, there’s some ghosties that aren’t as nice as Ben, as I’m _trying_ _to tell you_ -”

“Yeah? Well maybe it’s about time you grow up, and start taking some fucking responsibility! You can’t hide under the bed from your powers any longer! We’re trying to help you, and you – _Klaus, where the hell do you think you’re going_?”

Klaus storms inside his bedroom, and slams the door, quickly turning the lock. He takes a few steps back, gritting his teeth, and glares at the door. “Klaus, open the door! We’re not done talking about this! Like Diego said, this has gone on long enough!”

_Klaus! Klaus! Klaus!_

Klaus bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes fresh blood. Ben steps through the wall into the bedroom, grimacing at the sensation, and comes to stand beside him. There’re a few loud bangs on the door, and Klaus eyes the old wood warily. “Real mature, Klaus!”

“Back off!” He shouts back, clenching his fists so hard his knuckles _scream_ in protest.

He hears low murmuring voices, a few sighs, and “No Allison, we’ve tried the gentle watch-and-wait approach, and it’s just not working. He needs to start talking-” and then the voices fade away, travelling further down the corridor.

Klaus blows out a breath, looks down at his shaking hands, and tries to think around the anger that’s burning brightly in his gut. He doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with him, why he’s _so angry_. His head snaps up as a man suddenly phases through the wall, gurgling around the knife in his throat. Klaus recognises him as one of Diego’s ghosties; the man who’d been hovering over his brother’s shoulder last week as he’d waited for Five to appear.

Klaus looks at him uneasily, but the man just stands there, watching him.

 _“Klaus?”_ Ben asks, sounding concerned, but Klaus can’t tear his eyes away from the man. There’s an aura around him that disturbs him, an excitement, and Klaus swears there’s a gleam of anticipation in his eyes.

_Klaus! Klaus! Klaus!_

Klaus’s hands stop shaking.

This can never happen again.

The ghosts can never hurt his family.

Klaus’s breath hitches, decision made, and he spins around. He walks away from the door, just as there’s a light knock from the other side. “Klaus? Bro, can we talk?” Diego asks quietly.

Klaus ignores him, and goes to the desk first, rummaging as quietly as he can through the draws he hadn’t managed to drag out earlier.

“Fine, ok,” Diego sighs. “Maybe now isn’t the right time. But Klaus, promise me, _promise me_ , you’ve not got any more booze in there. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

Klaus looks under his bed next, and sighs when there’s nothing there either. He stumbles tiredly over to the clothes pile.

“Going to need an answer here, buddy,” Diego murmurs.

Klaus huffs, picks up a jacket from the floor and starts rifling through the pockets. Ben takes a step towards him, eyes flickering between Klaus’s face and the clothes in his hands. _“What are you doing? What are you looking for?”_ he asks warily.

“ _Klaus_ ,” Diego stresses, and the doorknob rattles as he tries to open the door.

“For God’s sake Diego, I’m trying to sleep! _I promise, ok_?” He hisses over his shoulder, fists clenching around the fabric in his hands.

“Ok,” Diego says after a moment, sounding taken aback. “Ok, I trust you.” There’s a pause where Klaus can sense Diego is hovering uncertainly outside the door. “Just- wake me up if you need me, ok?” When Klaus doesn’t reply, Diego sighs heavily. “Goodnight Klaus, Ben.”

Klaus listens closely until he hears the sound of his door closing quietly, and then he’s in motion again. He discards the jacket, and picks up a pair of trousers, searching them, and then throwing them on the floor when the pockets turn out empty. He picks up his black wool coat next, hissing under his breath in frustration.

Ben eyes him suspiciously. _“Klaus, what the hell are you up to?”_

Klaus scowls, rips his hands from the empty pockets, and puts the coat on, brushing off the glass specks. “I, _mon frère_ , am looking for cash, and then I’m going on a little midnight stroll.”

_“You can’t be serious. Klaus, go to sleep.”_

“Oh, I’m deadly serious,” He says, grabbing his boots, and pulling them on without bothering take the glass out the soles of his feet. “Hah, deadly.”

“You already have cigarettes,” Ben says tensely, spine rigid. “What do you need cash for?”

Klaus gives him _a look_ as he goes back over to the pile of ruined clothes on the floor, humming triumphantly when he finds two rolled up twenties in a pair of black skinny jeans he wore last week.

“Klaus,” Ben hisses warningly, and Klaus rolls his eyes.

“Calm it, Casper. I’m only buying them as a back-up, to use as a fucking off-switch should it ever try to become night of the living dead again.”

 _“Klaus, don’t you dare,”_ Ben growls angrily, eyes flashing. _“There’s no need to resort to drug’s, they’re never going to be the answer-”_

“ _Drugs are never the answer_ ,” Klaus mocks, walking towards the bedroom door. “Jesus, the rehab therapists really worked their magic on you.”

_“You just promised Diego you weren’t going to do anything stupid!”_

“It’s not stupid,” Klaus argues, putting an ear against the door and listening. “Like I said, back up drugs. I won’t let the ghosties hurt anyone.”

_“That’s an excuse and you know it! You just want to use again!”_

Klaus deems the corridor as empty, and puts his hand on the doorknob.

_Klaus! Klaus! Klaus!_

_“I swear, Klaus, don’t you dare open that door,”_ Ben snarls.

Klaus snorts, and turns to smirk at him over his shoulder. “Oooo, and what are you going to do, Ben? Last I checked, that would be, um – Oh, that’s right, _nothing!_ ”

 _“Klaus,”_ Ben hisses, eyes flashing furiously. _“Don’t. you. Dare.”_

Klaus takes one more glance at eager expression on the gurgling man’s face, and opens the door.

* * *

Klaus shivers as the cold breeze seeps through his thin clothes, and he pulls his coat tighter around him. The city is quieter tonight, and other than a few stragglers, the streets are almost empty. It’s a shame really, because Klaus could do with some noise to drown Ben out, because his brother just won’t _shut up_.

 _“I can’t believe you right now!”_ Ben is hissing, walking right beside him. _“Luther was right about one thing, take some responsibility!”_

Klaus ignores him, and turns around a corner.

 _“If you do this, I’ll never forgive you,”_ Ben snaps.

“The horror,” He deadpans, crossing the road.

_“Think of Dave! What would he think? Something tells me he wouldn’t approve of you wasting your life like this!”_

A terrible pang rolls through him, and the sudden pain takes his breath away. He staggers, and then stops in his tracks, breathing hard, with a palm pressed against some shop window. Ben stops in front of him, a brief flash of regret crossing his face, before his expression hardens, and he glares stubbornly at him.

Dave hadn’t approved of the drugs. He’d always had that slightly pained expression on his face whenever he’d caught Klaus dry-swallowing a few pills, smoking some heroin-laced weed, or on very rare occasions, shooting up his veins in ‘Nam. But once he’d found out about the ghosts, _and believed Klaus_ , he’d understood. Dave hadn’t liked it, but he’d accepted it.

They’d spoke about it a lot towards the end. Klaus had admitted he wanted to get sober, wanted to be with Dave without the haze from the drugs, and Dave had beamed, told him he was proud of him, and promised he’d help him, that they’d try and find a way to banish the ghosts. So Klaus had promised he’d try, not only for Dave, but for himself.

But Dave isn’t here, won’t answer his calls, and if Dave is breaking his promises, then maybe Klaus should start breaking his too.

“Dave isn’t here,” He says fiercely through clenched teeth, and then he’s off again, heading towards the first alley-way on his list.

_“And he won’t be if you do this!”_

“Look! I’m not going to use them unless I have to, ok? This is just back-up, just in case!”

_“There’s never a back-up when you’re an addict!” Ben spits furiously. “Once you have them in your hand, we both know you’ll use them. You’ll create any excuse up to justify it!”_

“Well what the fuck would you have me do?” Klaus screams, pushing his hands into his hair, and pulling painfully at his curls as he walks. A couple across the street look over at him in alarm, and the man hurriedly pulls on his partner’s hand when it looks like she might walk over. “I’m a fuck up Ben! And I can’t control it! I don’t know how!”

 _“That’s why you need to talk to the others,”_ Ben beseeches. _“Please, just talk to Five, talk to Diego, talk to any of them. They’ll help you!”_

“No,” He says, shaking his head, and quickening his pace. “They’ve got enough going on helping Vanya, and there’s too much that could go wrong. Like you said, Luther’s right, I need to take some responsibility.”

_“So taking drugs is responsible now, is it? God Klaus, you’re fucking unbelievable!”_

Klaus shrugs, and goes back to ignoring him, walking silently the rest of the way. When he reaches the alley-way, he takes a cautious step inside, hating himself just a little more for the building excitement making his heart race, and looks around.

It’s empty.

He grinds his teeth, forearms itching, and spins around, mapping out a route to the next most promising spot. He strides down the streets, hiding his hands in his pockets after a guy passes him on the sidewalk, eyes widening at the blood on his hands, and asks him, “Hey, you ok, man?”

Ben hisses at him vehemently the entire way to the next spot, appearing directly in front of him every few minutes, just for Klaus to walk right through him as if he isn’t there. By the time Klaus reaches the familiar L-shaped alley-way, much closer to the parts of town he used to frequent, his ears are ringing, his feet are _absolutely killing him_ , and he knows he’ll barely be able to walk tomorrow. He sighs softly in relief as the alley comes into view, and then hurries across the street, taking a few steps inside and looking around.

His heart sinks as he takes in the empty space, the disappointment eating away sickly at his insides.

“Fuck,” Klaus gasps shakily, putting his head in his hands, and sagging back against the brick wall. “No, no, no.”

 _“Thank God,”_ Ben breathes in relief, leaning next to him. _“God, Klaus.”_

Klaus breathes into his hands, feeling lost. There’s a voice in his head telling him he needs to get the drugs, that it’s for the greater good, that is would be for his family’s safety. There’s another voice that sounds like Dave, tone hard and disapproving, ‘ _You promised. Do you not want me anymore?’_

There’s another voice, whispering lovingly to him about how good the heroin would feel. Reminding him of that moment when the cold needle presses into skin; the moment when the plunger depresses, and the euphoria hits, and the world just _fades away,_ and nothing else matters, there's only the high -

Klaus rips himself away from the thought, making a pained sound under his breath. He listens instead to the sirens wailing in the distance, to the familiar sound of rats scuttling across the alleyway floor, and to Ben’s slowing breathing beside him.

_God, he wants it so much._

He inhales shakily, smelling the strong scent of urine, the rotting food coming from the dumpster to the left of him, and the metallic scent of the blood on his palms.

He breathes, and breathes, and breathes.

“I just don’t know how to do this,” He eventually admits, voice small. “Everything’s so hard.”

 _“Klaus,”_ Ben pleads, his voice achingly sad. _“I’ll help you. We’ll all help you. Please, just – not this.”_

Klaus takes a shaky breath, and lets his hands fall, looking up at the sky. It’s cloudy tonight, and he can’t see the stars. “I – Ben - we’ve got to find a way-”

 _“We will,”_ Ben says quickly. _“We will. Don’t ruin all your hard work now, you’ve been doing so well.”_

Klaus looks at him, studies his earnest expression, and sighs. He gives a tiny nod, feeling part of him rage in response, and just rests for a moment against the wall, trying to gather the last of his strength to turn away _from the drugs he aches for_ , and walk back to the academy with his feet cut to bits.

They stand in silence, the muffled sound of the city around them, and Klaus reaches up and clasps a hand around the dog-tags, turning the metal around in his fingers. He’s not sure how much time passes, lost in a daze, but he jumps when Ben’s voice suddenly cuts across the quietness.

 _“You know I love you, right?”_ Ben says tentatively. _“Even when we’re mad at each other, and we don’t see eye-to-eye? You know I’m not going anywhere?”_

Klaus feels his throat burning. He nods sharply.

There’s a pause.

_“Klaus?”_

“Yeah, Benny?” He croaks.

_“What happened inside the Mausoleum? I get the feeling that there’s part of that story you haven’t told me.”_

Klaus closes his eyes. “You don’t want to know.”

Ben hesitates, but then, _“I think you should tell me anyway.”_

Klaus doesn’t answer at first. He bites his lip, and just slowly turns the tags around in his hand, considering.

_“What Luther said – your face, I - Klaus, you’ve never made the ghosts corporal before, have you? The things you say in your sleep, they’re just fears, right? Nightmares?”_

Klaus takes a breath, and ever so slowly, shakes his head.

There’s a sharp intake of breath next to him

_“Klaus, what did they do to you?”_

Klaus opens his eyes, and peeks at Ben’s pale face. He takes a few moments to think through what he wants to say, trying to gather up the courage to say it, when Ben suddenly stiffens, wide eyes fixed on something over Klaus’s shoulder. “Klaus,” Ben says gravely, standing utterly still. “Don’t react, but there’s someone watching you.”

Ice forms a cage around his heart, and he feels his breath still in his lungs. “What? Who would do something like that?” He says lightly, falling back on to old mission techniques.

Ben’s eyes flicker to him, before looking back down the alley-way. _“They have a briefcase.”_

_Fuck, his family are going to **murder him**._

“I doubt we’d find anyone looking like that at this time in the morning, Ben,” He laughs, mouth going dry.

 _“I’m going to have a closer look. I’ll be right back.”_ Ben says, and disappears.

“Ok, Benarino,” He says to the empty air, foot tapping anxiously against the floor. He looks out into the empty street, and watches the nearest streetlight flicker on and off obnoxiously.

Ben reappears after a couple of seconds, looking alarmed. _“Definitely looks like commission,”_ He tells him. _“He’s not even trying to blend in, suit and briefcase. He’s got a handgun in his pocket, impossible to tell what model from the outline. Klaus, he’s just stood there staring.”_

“Hm, yeah, I wonder why,” He replies, humming.

 _“We should get back to the academy pronto,”_ Ben urges, stepping back onto the sidewalk. _“Come on, we need to tell the others.”_

“Um, no. They’d freak!” He laughs loudly, skin crawling at the sensation of the man’s eyes on his back. “I think we should see what happens, try and get some info.”

 _“Have you lost your mind?!”_ Ben hisses venomously, stepping dangerously towards him. _“That is the stupidest thing you’ve said tonight, and trust me, you’ve given me a lot to choose from!”_

Klaus smiles at him, _“No, don’t-”,_ and then pivots quickly to stare directly at the shadowy figure down the alley, waving his fingers cheerfully at them. He can feel Ben’s glare burning into the back of his head. _“Klaus, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”_

“Hello Mr Commission Agent, Sir!” Klaus shouts, grinning. His legs feel like jelly, and he thinks if his heart beats any faster, he might just have a cardiac arrest, but he pushes through. “My brother here noticed you staring, and I was wondering if I could help?”

_“Klaus, for God’s sake-”_

The figure cocks their head, moving as if to take a step forward, but then they suddenly jerk back as if spooked, and turn quickly on their heel, running around the corner of the L-shaped alley. Klaus curses, and makes a split-second decision to follow them, pushing himself away from the wall, and running as fast as he can with legs that feel half-frozen in fear.

His footsteps echo loudly against the walls as his feet slam on the concrete, and he manages to trip over a discarded take-out box in the shadowed corner where the light from the streetlamps can't reach, but then he’s running into the other side of the alley, slowing when he sees the space is deserted with the exception of two rats fighting over a half-eaten burrito on the ground.

“Fuck,” He gasps, eyes darting around, and feeling a bit giddy at his own recklessness. “Where did he go?”

 _“Maybe he used the briefcase?”_ Ben suggests, eyes flickering around cautiously, and then he turns to glare lividly at him. _“That was so fucking dumb, Klaus! He could have shot you!”_

“I’ve been shot at before,” Klaus says disinterestedly, frowning. He roams his eyes over the alley, and peers up at the vantage points across the street, unable to shake the feeling of uneasiness; a prickle on the back of his neck telling him _someone’s watching._

_“Uh-Huh. You did so well the last time you encountered the Commission! You know, when you managed to get kidnapped in a bathrobe!”_

“Been to Vietnam now, baby,” Klaus winks at him, pretending he doesn’t feel utterly nauseous whenever he thinks about the motel, and then looks back at the alley. “I feel like I’m missing something. He must have followed us all the way from the academy, but we didn’t notice.”

_“Klaus.”_

“Man, you suck at being a ghost lookout, Ben,” Klaus tells him, taking a few steps forward, and peering around the dumpster. “It’s lucky Luther never allocated you as lookout back in the day, you’d have been terrible-”

_“Klaus.”_

“-Absolutely terrible.”

_“Klaus!”_

“Even worse than me, and I was high for most of it, so really, the bar couldn’t have been set _lower_ -”

**_“Klaus!”_ **

“ _What_!” Klaus snaps, spinning around with a glare, but his heart lurches in his chest, the blood freezing abruptly in his veins.

Five is stood there, arms crossed, and leaning against the brick wall. His eyes are glinting furiously as he glowers at him from the shadows of the alley corner.

“Oh,” Klaus says faintly, dread twisting in his gut. “I guess we know why he ran.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all your lovely kudos/comments! :) I'm going to stop apologising for how long the chapters are, and just accept this is a character flaw :') Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Everyone! This is the first time I've sat down to write something in nearly ten years, so please bear with me! I watched TUA, and like many others, have become obsessed. I couldn't resist the itch to write, so here we are.
> 
> This is going to be a bit of a dark road for Klaus, and I'll add some more tags as they come up (just let me know if you think there's anything else I need to tag!). There will be a happy ending eventually, but he will be going through the wringer first. 
> 
> Just a few disclaimers:  
> 1) I don't own The Umbrella Academy or any of the characters. Please don't sue me. It's fantastic creator is Gerard Way, and Netflix produced the series.  
> 2) Any medical advice given by any of the characters in this fic is their own, and not in any way meant to be taken as genuine medical advice. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think :)


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